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Copyright © 2007 by Evil Eye, LLC, and Playboy Enterprises International, Inc. 

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please contact Simon & Schuster Special Sales at 1-800-456-6798 

Design by Carrmichael 

Introduction photo credits: initial photo by Don Bronstein ; all others by Larry Moyer 
Manufactured in the United States of America 
13579 10 8642 

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data is available. 

ISBN-13: 978-0-7432-9024-1 
ISBN-10: 0-7432-9024-0 

These essays were originally published individually by Playboy magazine. 


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Shel Silverstein was one of the most creative individuals I've ever known. 
His contributions to Playboy are legendary — and, as you can see in this book, 
his work stands the test of time. Shel was a true Renaissance man. He was 
a person of multiple talents that went beyond the art and humor I initially 
saw in him. Shel began his career as a cartoonist, but he went on to greater 
glory. He became an author of bestselling children's books, a songwriter, 
poet and playwright. He became our house humorist. And, most important 
to me, he became a confidant and one of my closest friends. 

I remember well the first time I met him. It was in Chicago in 1956. A 
veteran who had just returned to the States from military duty in Japan, 
he had heard word about a new, upstart magazine named Playboy. He 
decided to take his drawings to the Playboy office at 11 East Superior. He 
left a portfolio of his drawings with my secretary, but I didn't get around 

to looking at it right away. After a couple of weeks Shel came back to the 
office and demanded his cartoons back. He didn't think we were going 
to buy any of them. I asked him to wait while I looked them over. I went 
through his portfolio — there were maybe fifteen drawings in it — and I took 
out eight and put them on my desk. "Let's see, what's that?" I asked him. 
"Five hundred, six hundred dollars?" Shel nodded his head. "I suppose you 
could use it now," I said. "Yeah," he said. So I took out a checkbook from my 
desk and wrote Shel a check. I sensed some uncertainty on his part. Maybe 
it was because I needed a shave and was wearing my pajamas. Shel didn't 
think the magazine was going to last or that the check would even clear. It 
was quarter to five on a Friday afternoon and the banks were closed. Shel 
took off in disbelief, found a currency exchange someplace, and cashed 
the check right away. We always got a kick about that in later years. How 
implausible it all seems now. 

Everything begins with Shel's travels. I think it was through the work 
you'll see in this volume that he started to define himself. He wasn't sure 
about what he wanted to do with his life. He knew he wanted to revisit 
Japan, and I asked him to send back drawings from the trip, and to include 
himself as a character in them. I envisioned something along the lines of the 
travel letters Ernest Hemingway submitted to Esquire — a sort of personal diary 
that would be dispatched from around the globe. Shel was uncomfortable in 
that role. He didn't want to include himself, but I persisted. And I'm glad I 
did. What we got back in those drawings was narrative storytelling of a very 
personal manner. We saw Shel establish himself as a character. 

What is clear in those cartoons is Shel's humanity. During the Cold War, 
he went into the belly of the beast, traveling to Red Square in Moscow. 
Right from the beginning Shel established a rapport with people wherever 
he went. 

In some cases, what artists do on paper has nothing to do with their 
personal lives. But that's not the case with Shel. He was Uncle Shelby. He 
was the dreamer. He was his work. What comes through in the drawings 
is from the heart. What you'll see here is the expression of a great talent 
and a great friend. 

Hugh M. f^efner 
Los Angeles 
September 2006 


This book is for Hef. Who else could have come up with 
such a dream job for Shel? He got to travel the globe — 
expenses paid — and send artistic impressions of his exotic 
experiences back home to be published in a popular new 
magazine with a growing circulation that would make 
him a star. Hef gave Shel the opportunity to have a good 
time, indulge his inner child and his outer adult, and, for 
heaven's sake — get laid as much as possible! 

Shel Silverstein is known throughout the world as a children's author who wrote 
and illustrated a number of memorable books that have charmed readers of all ages. His 
reputation as a writer of children's books began with the auspicious rise in popularity of 
The Giving Tree, which was first published in 1964. His literary fame grew further with 
storybooks like The Missing Piece and timeless poetry collections like A Light in the Attic 
and Where the Sidewalk Ends . 


At the same time, Shel was a wry, sometimes bawdy songwriter who wrote 
hits for Johnny Cash ("A Boy Named Sue"), the Irish Rovers ("The Unicorn"), and 
Doctor Hook and the Medicine Show ("Sylvia's Mother" and "The Cover of 
the Rolling Stone"). He made a number of records under his own name, 
including offbeat albums like I'm So Good That I Don't Have to Brag and Freakin' 
at the Freakers Ball. 

In Nashville, Shel enjoyed friendships with essential American artists 
like Bobby Bare, Waylon Jennings, Kris Kristofferson, John Hartford and Chet 
Atkins. He composed songs for films like "I'm Checkin' Out," performed by 
Meryl Streep in Mike Nichols's Postcards from the Edge. He wrote the songs for 
Ned Kelly starring Mick Jagger, and Marianne Faithfull covered "The Ballad of 
Lucy Jordan," which was featured in Thelma & Louise. 

Shel was also an accomplished playwright, with credits that include The 
Lady or the Tiger Show, Gorilla and his one-man opus. The Devil and Billy Markham. 
He co-wrote the screenplay Things Change with David Mamet. 

What is often overlooked is that Shel came to prominence in the 1950s as a 
cartoonist for Playboy. More than an illustrator, he was a creative talent — and eager to 
be a part of the team. Almost immediately, he assumed the role of roving ambassador 
for the up-and-coming magazine. This esteemed assignment was due in no small part 
to his unique friendship with Playboy editor in chief, Hugh M. Hefner. 

Along with other early players — including artist LeRoy Neiman, businessman 
Victor Lownes and restaurateur John Dante — Shel was part of Hefner's inner circle, 
hanging out at the old Playboy offices and frequenting the adult playground situated 
at 1340 North State Parkway in Chicago: the Playboy Mansion. 

"Hef was in his pajamas when I met him," Shel recalled in 1986. "I had really 
thought at the time that I was meeting a guy who just woke up, which is a legitimate 
concern, you know? That same day I met LeRoy Neiman, who was wearing ragged 
shorts and was barefoot, and I thought — this is an interesting place." 

Surrounded by celebrities, intellectuals, 
jazzmen, comedians and beautiful women, 
the Playboy elite enjoyed a very special 
camaraderie while the magazine became 
a cultural fountainhead. Shel was the true 
bohemian of the bunch, and one of the few 
to remain a lifelong bachelor. 

Playboy's Silverstein Around the World is 
a series of illustrated comic travelogues — 
a legacy of the relationship between Shel 
and Hef and a by-product of the social 
revolution led by Playboy in the 1950s and 
1960s. The bond that these men shared 
was profound, and their alliance tran- 
scended all trappings of success. Shel's 
affiliation with Playboy made him a local 
hero in Chicago, and his stature as a 
Renaissance man grew along with the 
fortunes of the magazine. 

Before Shel turned up at Playboy, he 
served in the army. He worked for the 
military newspaper Stars and Stripes while 
stationed in Japan during the Korean War. 
His series of sardonic cartoons about army life for Stars and Stripes were quite popular 
among the enlisted men. He collected and published these works as his first book. Take 
Ten, which is also known as Grab Your Socks. 

Returning to his hometown of Chicago, Shel made his way as an illustrator, 
successfully placing small cartoons in Sports Illustrated and Look magazine. He would 
later rework the Look illustration for the cover of his book Now i 
of Futilities. 

Art Paul, the original art director for Playboy, takes credit f< 
introducing Shel to Hefner in 1956. "I met Shel a little earlier," 
says Art. "He came to the office after he had a cartoon pub- 
lished in Look magazine. It was just one of those classic 
cartoons, with the single caption 'Now here's my plan.' Of 
course, I was impressed. I saw his other stuff and knew 
Hef had to see them. I got them together and they carried 
the thing — they got close, the both of them — through 
the years." 

"That was the beginning of a lifelong personal 
and professional relationship," says Hefner. "I didn't 
have a lot of close personal friends working for 
the magazine but Shel became one of my closest 


friends, and so did LeRoy. Shel started hanging around the office a lot and he really 
became part of the cadre of friends— and our resident humorist." 

His Playboy debut came in August 1956. According to Art Paul, Shel and his cartoons 
were introduced in memorable fashion. "The first thing of Shel's that appeared in 
Playboy was an insert," Art recalls. "He was presented wonderfully in the sense that 
it wasn't overdone. There wasn't a lot of shouting about having a new cartoonist, but 
there was a great deal of attention gathered by the way we presented his first bit of 
work— and it was a four-page insert. They were inserts on yellow paper and had one 
cartoon on each page. Each cartoon was a little gem." 

LeRoy Neiman was there from the earliest beginnings of Playboy, and he remem- 
bers the camaraderie between himself, Shel and Hefner. He also remembers Hefner's 
eye for talent— and his ability to bring that talent into the fold. 

"When Shel came back from the army he had that book, Grab Your Socks, which 
was really very different. Nobody had ever seen anything like that," says Neiman. 
"And Hef was not only interested in snaring you, he was interested in tying you 
down — we all .knew that by the talent around. He had me, and he had Jack Cole, 
who was the best watercolor cartoonist that's ever been. Later Harvey Kurtzman 
came in. Boy, those cartoonists — Hef had the eye to pick these guys out. But Shel 
had something special." 

Despite his early strides with Playboy, things didn't happen fast enough for Shel. 
He decided to return to Japan, where his celebrity had led to better treatment than he 
was getting in Chicago. "I had been in Japan and 1 d been a star, Silverstein recalled. 

"Now I was nothing. I had already sold stuff 
to Playboy and felt very good about it — and 
even that wasn't enough." 

Shel told Hefner his travel plans, and 
Hef responded with a tempting offer. In 
1986, Shel remembered it this way: "I decided 
to go back to Japan, and Hef said, 'What 
are you going to do?' I said, 'I'm going back 
to live there.' He said, 'While you're there, 
draw some stuff for us. Send it back.' And I 
said, 'That's not why I'm going back. I don't 
know what I'd draw.' And he said, 'Well, 
you'll think of it,' and he paid for my boat 
ticket over there. I agonized greatly about 
it because I couldn't see what I would draw 
about that would be good for Playboy. I never 
wanted to do the sexy stuff. I wasn't going to 

do that there. I didn't think they'd want general gags or subtle stuff. I didn't want to 
draw about myself." 

As Hef described in this book's Foreword, he was inspired by what Ernest 
Hemingway had done — sending articles in letter form back to Esquire. "It was the 
notion that Shel would be our traveling representative, sending back recollections 
in the form of cartoons," says Hefner. "I wanted him, therefore, to include himself 
in the cartoons. But Shel didn't want to include himself. He really didn't think they 
would work. I said, 'Well, you try it. If it doesn't work, okay — but let's see.'" 

Let's see, indeed. 

The adventures began in May 1957 with "Return to Tokyo" and ended in the 

summer of 1968 with the two-part 
comic epic "Silverstein Among the 
Hippies." Over the course of eleven 
years there were twenty-three epi- 

This wasn't all Shel did with 
Playboy — for his was a lifetime 
association. Early on, he authored the 
magazine's film-oriented parlor-game 
book, Teevee Jeebies. Through the years 
he contributed poems, 
fables, songs, stories, a hilarious 
three-part "History of Playboy " and 
many other comic illustrations. His 
work graced the pages of Playboy from 
the 1950s through the 1990s — and 


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then again posthumously in 2001. The only other Playboy contributor to appear in every 
decade— besides Hefner himself— is LeRoy Neiman, who enjoyed his own long-running 

travel feature, "Man at His Leisure" 

The direction of Shel's travel series was not charted 
in advance — it was determined by a world of events and 
his whimsy. Some cartoons in "Return to Tokyo" felt like 
an extension of his work in Stars and Stripes, but Hef was 
pleased with the illustrated visit and encouraged Shel 
to continue his wandering ways, resulting in a quick 
succession of trips to places like Scandinavia, London, 
Russia, Paris, Italy and Spain. 

In addition to his other responsibilities at Playboy, 

Hef was the magazine's first cartoon editor. In the begin- 
ning he was himself a cartoonist and he had an affinity 
with his illustrators. Although Shel was given free rein 
as to the topics, drawings and humor, Hef still offered 
up a number of suggestions, and according to Shel's 
friend Larry Moyer, "Shel thought that Hef was the best 
cartoon editor around." 

One way that this collection differs from Silversteins 
other illustrated work is the premise of featuring himself 


as the central character. Despite Shel's initial reservations, Hefner's editorial directive 
had been astute, and the majority of the series showcased Shel in a variety of comic 

"It's almost impossible to separate what Shel got out of this experience of putting 
himself into it and what came out of it afterward," says Hefner. "It's all about the relation- 
ship between him and the reader. That personal perception made this stuff so special. 

He humanized the relationship between the peoples of the various cultures and various 
countries so that it wasn't a continual 'them and us.' Because in the 1950s and throughout 
the Cold War, there was a real 'them and us' mentality — even as there is today." 

Demystifying indigenous cultures, foreign lands and odd social scenarios, Shel 
depicted himself as a wandering Everyman. He lampooned the sad-but-true stereo- 
types of the American tourist and maintained unusually sharp insights into human 
nature. Shel's ironic perspective also captured the sexual ethos of the time. 

"There are two kinds of artists," says LeRoy Neiman. "There's the introspective 
artist who asks himself 'How do l feel?' and 'What do 1 think about this?' Then 
you have the person who's aware of everything — everything in the room, every- 
thing — wherever they go. They care about everything. That doesn't mean that 
they don't care about themselves, but they are observers. Observing is an incred- 
ible thing. To sit in a sidewalk cafe for an hour and observe people passing by is 
one thing — but to observe all the time is something else. Everything." 

Another difference between these Playboy portfolios and Shel's other illustra- 
tions is the use of color overlays on his inimitable pen-and-ink drawings. For those 
wondering why his trademark black-and-white style was not used, it was thanks 
to the pragmatic sensibilities of Art Paul. 

"Hef commissioned Shel to travel around and send back these autobiographical, 
humoresque tales," says Paul. 

"The layouts for these were six, 
seven, eight pages of text. The 
problem was that the magazine 
as a whole needed color, and it 
had little advertising at that time. 

It needed a color punch and this 
seemed to be an opportunity. I 
knew it wouldn't make Shel 
happy, and I would have pre- 
ferred to leave it all black and 
white, too. But then these color 
blocks became part of the iden- 
tity that went with his travel 
cartoons. He really wanted some- 
thing pure and simpler. So, that 
was unfortunate. I think I can 
take the blame for it." 


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The use of color did become part of Shel's travel pieces. Some of the episodes were 
color-coded— red for Russia, blue for Switzerland, etc. But looking back, even Hugh 
Hefner concurred with Art Paul's mea culpa. "I wish in retrospect 
that I hadn't had Arthur add the color to the series," said Hef. "I 
think Shel would have been much happier. Pure black and white, 
that's the way it should have been." 

Shel's early creativity was informed by an extensive artistic 
groundswell. A perpetual houseguest at the Playboy Mansion, he 
began painting and drawing (and traveling) with LeRoy Neiman. He 
also became friendly with two young comics, Lenny Bruce and Bill 
Cosby. He spent a lot of time at Chicago clubs like the Gate of Horn 
and was tight with folksinger Bob Gibson. Maintaining an apartment 
in Manhattan, Shel hung out with radio great Jean Shepherd and 
playwright Herb Gardner. The sexual mystique of Playboy reflected 
his lifestyle, and his adventurous spirit knew no bounds. 

Another element unique to these early illustrations is Shel's use of detailing, 
which serves as a contrast from the minimal leanings of his later work. His black-and- 
white drawings already had a distinctive line style, and his vision seemed particularly 
inspired by the romantic climes of Europe and the bohemian milieu of Greenwich 
Village. Elaborate depictions of the Left Bank in Paris and the ruins of the Colosseum 
in Rome indicate that he was stimulated as an illustrator and still evolving artistically. 

Along with illustrations and dialogue, the series included photographs of Shel in 
action, intending to prove that he'd actually visited the places rendered in his cartoons. 
Inevitably, there would be a shot of Shel drawing on his sketch pad surrounded by curi- 
ous locals who were often, coin- 
cidentally, eager-looking young 
women. But Shel met all sorts of 
people in his travels, including 
Larry Moyer, who became a life- 
long friend and served as his pho- 
tographer on several excursions. 

"I met Shel in 1957 in Moscow 
in Red Square," Moyer remembers. 

"I looked over and I see this guy 
sketching. You never see anybody 
sketching in Red Square, especially 
in 1957. He was drawing a Red 
Army soldier, and when he got 
to the bottom of the page there 
wasn't enough room for his boots. 

So he just crunched up the boots 
in the drawing. That's how we 
met, in front of the Kremlin." 


v.*J - A. 

Of course, with Playboy , sexuality was to be celebrated, and Shel explored this 
subject with deft and self-effacing humor. Satirizing his man-on-the-make persona, 
he portrayed the battle of the sexes in almost futile terms. Shel was more interested in 
the human aspects of the sexual revolution — wanting it more than getting it, looking 
more than touching, and highlighting "no" as one of the most discouraging words to 
be heard in any language. 

According to Moyer, Shel's method for gathering material was straightforward. "We 
were looking for bad girls and good food. That was the bottom line," Moyer 
recalls. "We'd go to a place we didn't know too much about. Before we could start 
doing stuff he would have to learn something about the joint. We would hang out for 
two or three weeks. Then Shel would sketch frantically for a few days and I would 
shoot a shitload of pictures — and always get Shel with a broad. That was the thing. The 
shot had to have some broads in there, and the better-looking the better!" 

In addition to his ribald pursuits, Shel's journeys were a mix of typical sightseeing 
and unorthodox stunts. In London he visited pubs and Trafalgar Square; in Switzerland 
it was mountain climbing. He was fearless, and hunted big game while on safari in 
Africa, felling a water buffalo. His momentous trip to Spain was split into two epi- 
sodes: After learning flamenco and suggesting siestas with the senoritas, Shel put on a 
matador's suit and/fought a bull, only to be gored (slightly) in the process. 

The most significant moment in his travels occurred during the trip to Africa. He'd 
been traveling from country to country, and after a successful safari expedition in 
Uganda, Shel and photographer Pat Morin were in a traffic accident — a head-to-head 
collision with a truck. The pair were badly injured and left alone on the side of the road 
in the jungle, only to be rescued by a tourist couple that happened to be driving by. 




Upon his return from Africa, Shel stayed closer to home, documenting a 
number of adventures in the U.S. and Mexico before making a return trip to 
London. He toured the newly added states of Alaska (where he panned for gold) 
and Hawaii (where he tried to get lei'd), and explored conventional tourist destina- 
tions like Miami and Hollywood. Profiling the scenes in Greenwich Village and 
Haight-Ashbury may have been convenient — Shel kept homes in both locales — but 
his incisive takes on the beat generation in 1960 and the hippie culture in 1968 were 
right on time. 

Despite the allure of the Playboy Mansion in Chicago, Shel made New York City 
his main residence for years. "Shel was different," says Vic Lownes. "He was very 
independent. The headquarters of Playboy were in Chicago but he stayed in Greenwich 
Village. Although he would make extensive visits to the Mansion, this was where he 
liked to be — in his part of town." 

Shel's bohemian aesthetic brought him to the 
nexus of the beatnik scene. He was familiar with 
the folk community that gathered in Washington 
Square Park, and he was well known at the coffee- 
houses near Bleecker and MacDougal. Friendships 
with wannabe poets, artists and writers enhanced 
his comic portrayals in "Silverstein in Greenwich 
Village," and he parodied the elements of "cool" 
with great insight. X \ 

After his trips to the forty-ninth and fiftieth ( \ 

states, Shel went back to his own beginnings \ 

and fulfilled a lifelong dream of being on the / x 
playing field with the Chicago White Sox. As a J 
teenager, Shel had worked as a beer-and- // 

hot-dog vendor at Comiskey Park, and he 
remained a fan of the South Siders. Of course, 
it was only spring training in Sarasota, Florida, 
but the thrill of it all cannot be denied. Similar in spirit 
to the amateur sporting efforts of George Plimpton, Shel's workouts 
with the White Sox led him to meet stars like Nellie Fox and Luis Aparicio — but 
it was too bad he didn't get a chance to play with his idol, Minnie Minoso, who'd 
recently been traded. 

Hugh Hefner remembers Shel's passion for his hometown team. "There's an il- 
lustration with the cartoon in Russia where someone says to him, 'Just think of it, 
comrade — under the Communist system of equal distribution, once every eight years 
the White Sox would win the pennantV " 

One of the best-remembered episodes was Shel's 1963 visit to the Sunny Rest 
Lodge in Palmerton, Pennsylvania. The ten-page extravaganza, "Silverstein in a Nud- 
ist Camp," put a brave new spin on the Playboy lifestyle — with Shel at the forefront. 
While Playboy had an illustrious history of revealing the female form, his bare-assed 


appearance was rare, if not unusual, for the magazine. Larry Moyer suggested 
they visit a nudist camp and brought him to Sunny Rest — and he served as the 
feature's photographer. 

"A lot of people don't want to be photographed at a nudist camp, because there 
are a lot of secretaries and bank tellers, that kind of thing," says Moyer. "So, to 
guarantee the layouts for the story, we brought models along for that particular job. 
It was so great being in a nudist camp that we didn't want to put our clothes 
on again after that. We drove all the way back to New York in this convertible 

naked— me and Shel and the three models that we brought 
with us. I think when we crossed the George Washington 
Bridge, we knew, 'Well, maybe we better put some clothes 
on.' Reluctantly!" 

Their summer visit to the Cherry Grove district of 
Fire Island was edgier still, as Shel and Larry mingled with 
the island's vacationing gay population. Using his illustra- 
tions to challenge and exploit sexual stereotypes, "Silverstein 
on Fire Island" comically ventured where no (straight) man had 
gone before. "When we were on Fire Island, nobody was mak- 
ing passes at us," Moyer says. "So we started thinking— what's 
wrong with us?" 

"One thing I have to say about Shel," Moyer adds. 

"He was one of the funniest guys I ever knew — and it 

was never at anybody’s expense. A lot of humor is based on putting other 
people down. I don't remember one time Shel ever put anybody down in his 
work — and that's something." 

By the latter 1960s, Shel was gaining status as a children's author and 
a songwriter — and his career was still intertwined with the popularity of 
Playboy. With his return to swinging London in 1967, it was obvious that 
times had changed— his reputation now preceded him and the magazine 
was a household word. He was still sketching in Trafalgar Square and 
schmoozing guards at Buckingham Palace, but he was also spotted lunching 
with Twiggy and gambling at the Playboy Club's chic London casino. 

In the summer of 1968, Playboy published the two-part classic 
"Silverstein Among the Hippies." The hippie episodes turned out to be 
the last of his travel series, but they also showcased Shel at his creative 
best. With the pages saturated in psychedelic coloring, his illustrations 
were fluid, bold and sure-handed. He was already familiar with the 
San Francisco scene and had a houseboat in Sausalito. Amid frolicking 
spoofs on free love and hippie drug culture, he made some of his most 
succinct social commentaries. The progressive Playboy philosophy had 
merged with the idealistic values of the Love Generation— and it looked a 
lot like Shel Silverstein. 

Other than a retrospective article in 1971, this was the conclusion 
of "Silverstein Around the World." There were further adventures left un- 
documented, including trips to Tahiti and Thailand and a return to Japan, 
but numerous artistic endeavors took his attention away from Playboy and 

Shel's contributions to the magazine became more sporadic. Never again would his 
work be so overtly autobiographical. 

Shel remained productive until his death in 1999. He was still drawing, writing 
songs, composing poems, making records and putting on plays. There was a collection of 
adult illustrations. Different Dances, and his poetry book Falling Up became yet another 
bestseller. He worked on a collection of illustrated spoonerisms for more than twenty- 
five years, called Runny Babbit, which was published posthumously. 

Looking back, Shel told Hugh Hefner, " I find that the things of value to me have 
become quite clear — that the times of closeness with real friends is becoming the most 
valuable thing of all. So the travel for me has almost no value anymore. Seeing what? 
They're only places with people like myself. If you want to show me a mountain. I've 
seen some high mountains, and I've seen what men can do with the pyramids. I've seen 
the tropics and so what? If I've created an image of a world traveler and adventurer, and 



MAY 1957 

cartoonist silverstein takes a sentimental journey 

S cHiCKi.ESS shel silverstejn, the bril- 
liant, bearded cartoonist whose work 
appears regularly in playboy, served 
most of a two year army hitch with the 
staff of the Pacific Stars and Stripes , 
bringing a bit of satirical sunlight into 
the dark days of the Korean occupation. 
The indigestion that followed the 
GIs’ bouts with army chow was alle- 
viated to some extent when they’d 
open the pages of S&S and see a Silver- 
stein mess sergeant admonishing his 
underlings with, “OK, who’s been sneak- 
ing meat into the hamburger?” And 
every joe who ever received a dressing- 

down from the military police could 
chuckle sardonically over the drawing 
in which one surly MP whispered to 
another, “Psst . . . Merry Christmas!” 
Shel has confessed that the enthusiastic 
reception given his cartoons by fellow 
GIs was the second nicest experience of 
his life. The first was being stationed 
in Japan. 

Sitting in front of his drawing board 
in our offices, Shel has often leaned 
back in his chair and reminisced about 
the Land of the Rising Sun. “In Japan, 
it's different,” he has said on more than 
one occasion, never bothering to define 

it. “You’re treated like a very special 
fellow in Japan— especially by the 
women. The country really looks like 
those old Japanese prints. I love the 
place. I love everything about it— the 
people, the culture, the way it looks, 
the way it sounds, the way it smells. I’m 
going to go back some day,” 

Shel Silverstein has done just that, 
as the first stop in a trip around the 
world for playboy. He took his sketch- 
book with him, at our suggestion, and 
we received these impressions of a re- 
visited Tokyo just a few days before 
this issue went to press. 

"By God, 

the Orient! " 


c; uoo 

MAW j 

Miss — which way to the Imperial Gardens?' 

"But, Martha, where would we put it?" 



JULY 1957 

"You'll like Urla... she's a typical Norwegian girl... 
blonde hair. . .blue eyes... nice figure ... tall ... " 




the further wanderings of 
playboy’s bearded 
cartoonist at large 


where he sketched his impressions for 
our May issue. Shcl Silverstein flew 
the great circle route, touching down 
briefly in Anchorage, Alaska, to the 
Land of the Midnight Sun — Scan- 
dinavia. the home of the Vikings, 
Ibsen, Grieg, Strindberg, Ekberg, 
Kierkegaard, smorgasbord, sex 
changes and the Swedish massage. 
Our bearded ambassador-with-port- 
folio called us. collect, from Copen- 
hagen to make certain his Scandi- 
navian sketches had arrived safely. 
They had, and included with them 
w r as a brief written report on his per- 
sonal adventures: “This has been 

one of the most hectic months of my 
life,” he wrote. "After touring Nor- 
way and Sweden, I settled down in 
Copenhagen, where I thought my 
beard would permit me to blend 
quietly in with the Danes, many of 
whom are also bearded. I couldn’t 
have been more wrong. Due in large 
part to this damned beard, I (1) be- 
came involved in a barroom brawl 


"If you're a girl, how about 
having dinner with me tonight?" 

(which I won) over a woman (which 
I lost) , (2) worked as a solo wash- 
board and featured vocalist (because 
I spoke the best English) of Papa 
Bue’s Bearded Viking New Orleans 
Danish Jazz Band (a very popular 
group until I joined them) , (3) suf- 
fered a slightly broken foot, acquir- 
ing a limp, a cane and a very glamor- 
ous air, (4) was under observation 
and investigation as a 'Russian 
Agent* because I was seen entering 
the Russian Embassy in quest of a 
visa, and (5) became involved in a 
brief but glorious romance which 
I’m not telling any 1,000,000 play- 
boy readers about. As of this writing, 
my foot, heart and political standing 
are all in pretty good shape. 

"Room for one more... 1 ' 

Silverstein sings the blues with the 
Bearded Viking New Orleans Jazz Band. 



"Well, my goodness ... Are all American 
girls built like Jayne Mansfield?... 

Are all Italian girls built like Sophia 
Loren?. . .Are all. . ." 







cartoonist Shel Silverstein has whisked 
us to Japan (where he was asked “Is it 
true what they say about American wom- 
en?'’) and Scandinavia (where he was 
featured vocalist of Papa Bue’s Bearded 
Viking New Orleans Danish Jazz Band). 
Both of these far-flung lands were lov- 
ingly limned in on-the-spot sketches 
bearing the saucy Silverstein stamp. 

This month, his sketch pad sparkles 
with his impressions of the world’s larg- 
est, grandest city: venerable and vener- 
ated London, the home of a teeming 
eight million people, the seat of mighty 
kings and queens, the nucleus of a once- 
vast empire, the city that looked upon 
Augustine and William Shakespeare. 

Shel's view of London is not quite so 
lofty as all that, but it’s pretty obvious 
he agrees wholeheartedly with Poet 
Laureate John Masefield’s wann words 
about the place: “Oh London Town’s a 
fine town, and London sights are rare./ 
And London ale is right ale, and brisk's 
the London air.” Fine, rare, right and 
brisk as the age-old city itself are these 
drawings from a puckish pen. 


wandering beard 
beards the british 

lion in its den 

The bobby and the beard: Shel and a cop 
collaborate in drawing a London landscape. 

. .America! . . .Where 
you from?" 

"Say, you fellows have really picked up 
on our Ivy League styles haven't you?" 

¥ V 


Shel makes a new friend in Trafalgar Square. 

"Blimey, gov, arfter 'oppin' about Tokyo an' 
Scarndenyvia, hit must be a ruddy joy ter 
'ear English spoke again. .. Lor, I recalls 
one noight I were 'avin' a bit o' bingo in a 
pub in Swyden, when I spies this 'ere chaffer 
'avin' a pot o' four arf at the near an' 
far — regular cheese she were an' up the pole 
t'boot. I were a bit squiffy from the bubbly 
m' self an' I figured, ''ere's a bit o' 
Roger, sure as eggs is eggs,' when ' rarnd 
the Johnny Horner pops this rorty, gallows- 
faced cabbage gelder. Lori Big as th' bloody 
tower, 'e were — 25 stone at least — an' 'e 
were browned off proper: 'All roight, ye 
randy, beef-witted, hobnailer, ' 'e says 
t'me, ''op it, afor yer gets a slosh in the 
gob. This 'ere's m' lawful blanket! ' 'In 
yer 'at, 'arry,' says I. Well, sir, 'e 
'its me a gooser on the bread pan an'..." 


"I believe I can say with assurance, sir, that Princess Margaret will 
not be interested in appearing as January's Playmate of the Month..." 




with the world’s most romantic city 

shel silverstein has visited and sketched 
some lore-and-legend-haunted ports of 
call for these pages: Tokyo, Scandinavia 
and London are all atmospheric places 
packed with color, flavor and historic 
grandeur, and the antic Silverstein 
spirit responded to them with whimsy 
and warmth. But, to twist an old ballad, 
“no place on earth does he love more 
sincerely” — than Paris. 

The same city that inspired Toulouse 
and Zola, Villon and Voltaire, Dumas, 
both ptre and fils ; the city of Nostra- 
damus and Notre Dame, Baudelaire and 
Brigitte Bardot, Fontaine and Fernan- 
del — this city inspired Silverstein as 

well, and no wonder, for Paris (which 
more than one man has called the place 
good Americans go to when they die) 
is a city steeped in seductiveness, richly 
redolent of romance, a city few fellows 
of taste have been able to resist — not 
even sour Nietzsche w r ho said, “As an 
artist, a man has no home in Europe 
save in Paris.*’ 

As an artist, Shel Silverstein had a 
wonderful time creating the labor of 
love that begins on this page — a plcas- 
ureful portfolio of zestful, winsome, 
finely funny impressions of a 2000-year- 
old city that captured his heart and 
swept him off his feet. 

"Well, that depends, monsieur. .. If you face east, this is the left bank 
...If you face west, that is the left bank... If you face south..." 

"With all the American tourists arriving, monsieur, these small, dark, 
dingy garrets are quite expensive. However, if you’d consider a large, 
clean, well— lit room on the first floor... ff 

"A bottle of absinthe. . .a 
checkered tablecloth . . . a 

candle in a wine bottle..." 

"Fellows, meet Shel Silverstein from Chicago. 
Shel, shake hands with Eddie Bell from Los 
Angeles, Charley Petersen from Boston, Steve 
Zimmerman from St. Louis and Jim Albright from 
New Jersey . " 


"Listen to this: 'Good-bye 

Paris, old friend, old com- 
rade, old drinking companion, 
with your flaky green trees 
and your warm, playful sun and 
your friendly open-arm cafes, 
with your busy Seine and buzz- 
ing streets and bustling shops 
and children's laughter and 
lovers . . . lovers . . . lovers . . . 
You'll not miss me, Paris, al- 
though you were a good friend. 
The publishers doubted me, 
Paris, and the landlords and 
shopkeepers rejected me... and 
Arlette . . . Arlette . . . Arlette 
deserted me. But you remained 
loyal... you were a good friend, 
Paris. . .adieu. . .mon ami. . .adieu 
...' Man, that's what I call 
writing! " 

"Er. . .darling, je vous aime 
beaucoup. . . je ne sais pas what 
do . . . morning, noon and 
nighttime, too. .. touj ours won- 
dering what to do. . . er. . . 
cherie ..." 


Assuming the famous hat, cane and stature (by kneeling on his shoes) of 
another artist inspired by Paris, Shel makes striking Toulouse-Lautrec. 

you let Audrey Hepburn dance in the 
street . . .you let. . . " 


’’Look at this place, Paul — no heat, no electricity, 
crawling with bugs, no icebox, no ventilation, no 
bathtub, no toilet, nothing to eat but a few scraps 
of bread and cheap wine. Frankly, I don't see how 
you manage to stay alive, Paul . . . Paul? . . . Paul? . . . " 

Silverstein makes friends easily. 
Here a long-tressed Parisienne kib- 
itzes as he sketches in street cafe. 

"What is this thing called 
an American kiss?" 



MARCH 1958 



ehind the iron curtain with playboy’s unguided missile 

tic shel si lverstein, having 
l into many a country 
a clime during his sketching 
world, started to amble into 
d stubbed his toe on a certain 
Jndaunted. he resorted to sub- 
and tried to get in as a tourist. 
He then tried again as a jotir- 
inally he passed himself 
er of an American youth 
is luxuriant chin-spinach), 
editors of playboy re- 
ane call from a “Mr. 
in Moscow, who told us in 
familiar voice that his mis- 
accomplished and then 
oo long after, we received 

a bulky package of Moscow cartoons and 
photos, accompanied by a letter from 
Shel, scrawled on a gigantic page of his 
sketch pad. It read, in part: 

. As far as my personal adventures 
in Moscow are concerned, I have been 
bothered by no one and nothing — ex- 
cept amoebic dysentery, which I found 
to be scientifically no more advanced 
than American amoebic dysentery. The 
people on the streets of Moscow are the 
friendliest and wannest I’ve met on my 
travels . . . prices are tremendously high 
. . . the girls are lovely (photographic 
proof of this enclosed). I talked with the 
editors and cartoonists of Krokodil, Rus- 
sia's biggest humor magazine, and had 
a chance to meet many young artists. 

Nothing very funny is happening to me 
here. Moscow is a pretty serious place,*’ 
Meanwhile, back at the playboy 
building, the staff sweated out some 
anxious moments when it was learned 
that a dozen members of the youth rally 
had accepted an invitation into Red 
China, minus State Department blessing, 
and were in danger of losing their pass- 
ports. Might Shel be one of these reck- 
less youths? we wondered. Assurance 
was forthcoming in good time: no. said 
Shel in another letter, the temptation 
had been easy to resist because he 
needed that passport to get him into all 
the other faraway places with strange- 
sounding names ripe for sketching by 

M Just think of it, comrade — under the Communist system of equal distribution, 
once every eight years the White Sox would win the pennant ! " 

"Gee, Natasha — you mean you Russians 
invented this? ! " 

Shel sketches changing of the honor 
guard in front of Lenin-Stalin tomb. 

"Well anyway, there aren't any hidden microphones." 

A truckload of girls from a collective farm 
near Moscow came to the big city on a visit 
and stopped long enough to dance the gopak 
with Shel right in the middle of the street. 

A Soviet army officer's interest is piqued. Soon 
after, Shel was surrounded by a curious crowd. 


"We Russian cartoonists have the same freedom as 
you Americans — you 1 re allowed to criticize America 
in your cartoons, and we 1 re allowed to criticize 
America in ours." 

Wherever he goes, even to a Russian rail- 
road station, Silverstein finds pretty girls. 


JUNE 1958 


our boy 
and finds it 


T he i.ambent land of Italy is the home 
of mandolins and macaroni, olive oil 
and opera, gorgonzola and gondolas. 
Without it, there would be no Venetian 
glass, Florentine leather, Neapolitan ice 
cream or Roman fever. We of America 
are especially indebted to it: Cristoforo 
Colombo discovered us and Amerigo 
Vespucci lent us his name. We have a 
town called Italy, three called Rome, five 
each called Naples, Venice and Verona, 
and we also have an airfield called La 
Guardia. Our language is studded with 
snappy words on lend-lease from Italy: 
tempo , fiasco, piano, umbrella, stucco, 
fresco, ditto, volcano, casino, bordello, 
incognito, quota, soda, stanza, vista, ven- 
detta, manifesto, motto and mah-rone! 
And what do we call that leaning-tower- 
type type in which the foregoing string 
of words is printed? Italic. The Boot 
meets The Beard this month as the 
fine Italian hand of Shel Silverstein 
— playboy’s ambulating americano — 
sketches sunny Italy. 


"I don't know the exact address, but 
it's right behind a church..." 


"It's really a very 
simple dish... you 
take a flat piece of dough... 
cover it over with 
tomato sauce . . . chop 
in chunks of Italian 
sausage, mushrooms and 

anchovies. .. top it 
all with melted 
provolone cheese 
and bake . " 



She! Silverstein draws a Roman crowd in more ways tho one. 



"Perhaps, signore, we could make your wishes come true without 
wasting your coins on this silly fountaih..." 

"Now remember ... nothing A.D....we only have time for B.C." 

"Viva la pasta!" says Shel as he shovels in the spaghetti. 



"Marge — Marge Wilson ! Why, I 
haven't seen you since high school!’ 

"Gondola, signore? Three 
thousand lire for the 
first hour... two thousand 
for each additional hour. . . 
a small additional charge 
if you wish accordion music 
or romantic arias..." 


"...Most American tourists, they see nothing ... they 
waste their time running through the ruins of the 

Forum, they take photographs of San Pietro, they 

throw coins into Trevi Fountain, they burrow into 

the catacombs, they whisk through the Colosseum and 

the Pantheon and the museums all the day and sit and 
drink and dance in the Via Veneto cabarets all night 
.but you . signore, you are seeing the real Rome! ! 




"Swiss pipe, Swiss cane, 
Swiss hat, Swiss shorts, 
Swiss boots... Must be 
an American tourist." 


our roistering roamer digs the land of ventilated cheese 

"Don't you want the thrills? The 
peril? The excitement? The..." 

Tjr annibal needed a whole menagerie of 
” elephants, horses, donkeys and leop- 
ards-with-spears-attached to get him over 
the Alps, but Shel Silverstein needed 
only his sketchbook, his pencil, his beard 
and his lively curiosity. Entering Switzer; 
land, Shel got right into the spirit of 
things (as he always does)— donning the 
required sweater, Lederhosen and pointy, 
shaving-brushed hat; investigating the 
cuckoo clock situation; checking out the 
native quail; venturing a scratchy yodel 
and blowing hot bells with a combo of 
Swiss bell-ringers. He also found time to 
sketch his own highly personal impres- 
sions of Switzerland for pi.ayboy. 

"Well, I’ve tasted better brandy..." 


"You realize of course, Miss Gruber, that the slightest 
noise on your part could send thousands of tons of snow 
and ice avalanching down. . .crushing us to an agonizing, 
suffocating end... and bringing death and destruction to 
the innocent people of that picturesque village below... 

"Yes, sir, give me a mountain any time. You conquer a 
mountain and it stays conquered! Does a mountain ever 
keep you waiting for hours? No! Does a mountain ever 
lie to you or try to squeeze money out of you? No! 
Does a mountain ever leave a lot of dirty lingerie 
cluttering up the bathroom? No! Does a mountain ever 
go off cheating on you the minute your back is turned? 
Does a mountain ever run off with some shoe salesman 
from Detroit, Michigan? HelJL, noli 


MARCH 1959 | APRIL 1959 


the rain in SPAIN was mainly on the 
wane while Silverstein was there — 
for in addition to the well-known 
Hispanic sun, there was Shel’s own 
private stock of sunshine which he 
never fails to sneak past Customs 
wherever he goes. 

In Spain, he visited the tradition- 
rich towns of Madrid, Seville and 
Granada. In true Silverstein style, he 
plunged heart, soul and beard into 
several old Spanish customs. He 
donned native attire, danced the 
flamenco, clicked castanets, rode a 
burro, drank out of wineskins, ate 
fried bananas, garlic soup and paella ; 
he even fought a bull. “Ava Gardner 
was there at the same time,” Shel 
confided to us. “We never met.” 

shel sketches the siesta set: 
the first of a two-part portfolio 


You mean there isn't anyplace 

in this whole town where a guy 
can buy some tranquilizers??" 


"Well, if you 
wanted to sketch 
peons in se rapes and 
wide sombreros, 
senor, you should 
have gone to 
Mexico ... if you 
wanted to 
see hat dancing, 
you should have 
gone to Mexico . if 
you wanted to 
eat tacos and drink 
tequila, you 
should have gone 
to Mexico , 
if you ... " 

/ t / 4 r v f_ 


OK, but now let's look 
at it from the 
bullfighter ' s point 
of view! . . 

"That is the picador, senor. After the colored ribbons of the 
breeding ranch have been stuck into the bull, he drives his spike 

deep into the bull's neck — then the bandenlleros plant their 
banderillas into his back, then the matador, after his muleta work. 

will drive his sword in over the horns — and the bull will I an, 

then the cachetero will stab the bull with his puntilla and will 
cut off his ears and tail ... then, senor. if you have a weak 
stomach I would advise you to leave at that moment, because then . . . 

"That bull you see there 
is a coward, senor — he 
has been tried 
in a tienta and found to 
have no courage. He 
shall never know the ex- 
citement of the corrida — 
he shall never see the flash 

of the cape, hear the roar 
of the crowd, feel the honor 

of dying gloriously and 
bravely. No, senor, this bull 
must spend his entire cowardly 

life here among the cows." 

i a barba (the beard) is what the citizens 
of Seville called the world’s only whis- 
kered bullfighter, Shel Silverstein. Gags 
about La Barba of Seville would seem in 
order, but these would tend to tarnish 
the glamor and dignity of the noble 
corrida tradition, so we will refrain. Be- 
fore matching wits with el toro, Shel 
trained for a month at the ranch of 
Count Maza, just outside Seville. His in- 
structors were Tito Palacios and John 
Short, both bullfighters of note, the 
latter a compatriot of Silverstein’s. After 
mastering such intricate passes as the 

veroyiica, the chicuelina and the goa- 
nrra, Shel donned the resplendent suit 
of lights, strode majestically through the 
gates of fear and faced the bull in the 
formal dance of death. “After that bout, 
I was known as El Corazdn del Polio,” 
Shel says, insisting that it means The 
Lion-Hearted even when we opened our 
Spanish dictionary and showed him that 
polio means “chicken.” Did Shel kill the 
bull? “No.” he admits, “but on the other 
hand, the bull didn’t kill me. I still have 
a slight scar on the, uh, hip, though, 
where his horn grazed me.” jOle! 

"Nothing fancy, now 

"Now watch him 
closely — see how 
he favors 

his right hand — now 
he's doing a revolera — 
best thing for 
a revolera is to stop 
short and catch him 
in the middle 
of his swirl — now 
he's doing a right- 
handed round pass. 

If you can — fake him 
off to the left 
and then bring your 
horns up fast 
and to the right and 
pow ! Now watch 
this — he's trying 
a desplante. This 
is really fun. 

You wait until he's 
kneeling directly in 
front of you 
and then ..." 


too-brave bull bring high drama to la fiasla brava. 

"Well for goodness' sake, what on earth 
do I want with those filthy 

old bull 1 s ears ! " 





"Pssst — a word of warning, 
o bearded one — 
beware the fatal 
charms of Fatima, of 

the flashing eyes, 
who dances nightly 
at the Casbah Club, 23 Rue 

sheik shel in the land of 
dervishes and dromedaries 

“i’ll sing thee songs of Araby,” said Silverstein as 
he departed for that locality, “and tales of fair Kash- 
mir.” Or, anyway, he said something to that effect. 
On foot and on camel, he roamed North Africa, visit- 
ing Tangier, Cairo, Rabat and Casablanca, where he 
swears he saw individuals remarkably like Claude 
Rains, Paul Henreid, Ingrid Bergman and other old 
Warner Brothers types lurking behind the mosques 
and minarets. “But they may have been mirages,” he 
adds; “that desert sun . . Even though he was not 
invited to come to the casbah, Shel was enthralled by 
the land of the Arabs. “And I was pleased to learn 
that the barbaric practice of buying and selling beau- 
tiful young women has been abolished,” he scowled. 

how you of the west 
could carry so many 

things with your hands . M 

"You refuse to buy 
my souvenirs, 
you refuse to save 
my wives and 

children from starvation, 

you refuse to aid 

our tottering economy, 

o foolish one — 

you drive us into 

the arms of 

the Communists!" 

"But it is 
form fitting." 

"These are my sisters — 
Aicha, Zohra and Halima. 

Halima is the shy one." 

"Sure I'll say, 

'Alms for the love of 

Allah, ' but not for 
a lousy 20 francs!" 

Arrayed in the fez and galabia of 
ert chieftain, Shel glowers from his 

"... Or how about a 
camel alone on the 
desert saying, 'I'd 
walk a mile for a 
Camel.' Get it? 

Or maybe you can 
draw a pack of 
camels. Get it? 

A pack of Camels ? 

Ha! Or maybe you 
can draw a camel 
trying to squeeze 
through the eye 
of a needle. Or how 
about a camel 
salesman saying, 

'One lump or two?' 
Get it? 'One lump or 
two 1 ' Or how 
about a. . . " 

Silverstein strolls through a suk, or outdoor market, of 
Marrakech, alongside the veiled women of an exotic culture. 


"I don't know which one is ME I" 







THE FABLF.D thrills of big-game hunt- 
ing in Africa are too enticing for the 
wandering adventurer to resist for long. 
Accordingly, after sketching the Arabs, 
Shel Silverstein went on safari. He 
proved hunter enough to fell a water 
buffalo, called the most dangerous game. 

As our regular readers well know by 
now, Shel has traveled yon, hither and 
thither for playboy these past two years, 
enjoying adventures in Japan, Scandi- 
navia, England, France, Russia, Italy, 
Switzerland, Spain and Araby with 
hardly a scratch on the tough Silverstein 
hide (he doesn’t count the minor wound 
received in a Spanish bullring). But, re- 
turning from this safari in Central 
Africa, driving along the nearly deserted 
road to Kampala in Uganda, Shel and 
photographer-friend Pat Morin collided 
head on with a truck full of natives. 
Both men were badly hurt, Shel with his 
side caved in and left leg slashed open. 
They asked the natives to take them to 
a hospital, but the aborigines would do 

nothing without payment, and the 
minds of the two men were so fogged by 
shock they couldn’t remember where 
they had put their money. The natives 
left them lying by the side of the road. 
Hours passed under the white-hot 
African sun and the two men, unable 
to move, calculated that they would al- 
most certainly die from their wounds and 
exposure, if prowling lions, drawn by 
the scent of blood, didn’t eat them first. 

Near dusk, a car carrying a Scottish 
couple came down the road. They took 
the injured pair 40 miles over a rough 
and rocky road to a tiny four-bed hos- 
pital at Fort Portal. Shel was hospital- 
ized for three months; he came out of 
the experience 50 pounds lighter, his 
beard eight inches longer, toting a cane 
for a persistent, perhaps perpetual limp. 
But the Silverstein spirit remained un- 
daunted: he brought back to the U.S. a 
sketch pad full of his humorous personal 
impressions of the Dark Continent. 

shel courts danger as a big-game hunter on safari 

"To be honest with you, Silverstein, 
you've given me the greatest challenge 

in my 23 years as a white hunter. 
I've found lions for Hemingway... 

I've found white rhino for Gunther... 

I've found Mau Mau for Ruark... 

But 18-year-old blue-eyed blondes — 

that's really going to take some doing." 

"Now these little white things 
called aspirins. You take two with a 
glass of water and in 
10 minutes. . .headache gone!" 


"What do you mean — you just remembered 

you can't stand the sight of blood?!" 

Having just felled a water buffalo, Silverstein strikes the 
classic pose of the triumphant hunter. The feat was accom- 
plished in Ubangi country, where Shel hoped to see the fabled "...And if you see 

saucer-lipped women. He saw none. "Progress!" he snorted. Edgar Rice Burroughs , 

tell him for me 
he's an ungrateful, cheap, 
plagiarizing, thieving...." 

"I guess I'd better explain this in a hurry. 

This is the bolt... after each round you pull it back 
and the shell ejects. This is your rear sight... 
you line this up with your front sight, 

allowing for windage and. " 

"I send your message to Gulu, Bwana. . . 

Gulu drummer relay message to Mombasa. 
Mombasa drummer relay message to Kantaga. . . 

Kantaga drummer relay message to Usumbura. . . 
Usumbura has no drummer, so they telephone 

message to Kampala. . .Kampala drummer...." 

Rifle in hand, cartoonist Silverstein wades in the 
hippo-infested waters of Lake George in Uganda. 


Watusi children contribute to Shel's sketch pad. Shel claims 
the adult Watusi "aren't as tall as they were in King Sol- 
omon's Mines." He also claims "the pygmies aren't as short/ 7 

n ...And so the good kind lion let the little mousey go free 
and later when the lion was trapped in a big net 

and couldn't get loose, the grateful mousey came to his aid 
and gnawed through the net and saved his life and...." 



0/ felSWau 

"They're talking about us all over the Village — down 
at the Figaro, over at Whalen's, down at Joe's, up at 
the Bagel — they r re all saying we're not sleeping 
together. Now maybe you don't give a damn what people 
think, but I dol" 


our globetrotting cartoonist reports on a beat and bizarre segment of the american scene 

shel silverstein, the free-wheeling humorist who has sketched many of 
the world's most exotic lands for playboy, has been living in Greenwich 
Village for the past year, recuperating from wounds incurred on safari 
(Silverstein in Africa, playboy, October 1959), working at drawing board 
and recording studio (his disc, Hairy Jazz, was reviewed in February’s 
Playboy After Hours), and just generally absorbing. Before long, lie will jour- 
ney forth again to far-flung places, but in the meantime he has set down 
his impressions of a locale in many ways as exotic as any he visited across 
the great waters. A whole new philosophy, called Beat, blossomed forth 
in America while he was away, and it took root in the Village. On these 
pages, Shel depicts this town-within-a-town in all its beat and bawdy glory. 

Spring in the Village 

"OK, then it's all set — Georgia, you 
oommit suicide by jumping off the 
Washington Square Arch, Ty photographs 
him in mid-air and sells the picture to 
the Daily News, Ted writes a short story 
about him and sells it to The 
New Yorker. Herb writes a play about 
him and sells it to the Phoenix Theatre, 
Lou writes a folk song about him and 
records it for Decca, John writes a 
poem about him and sells it to Harper's, 
I do a movie scenario starring Gene and 
Lois and sell it to Hollywood, Vern 
paints a. . . " 

"Well how do you know you can't play 
'Stardust' if you've never tried play- 
ing 'Stardust'?" 


"What do you mean, "First of all, 

you’d sooner have a Marlboro?!!..." you’re not thinking like a swan..." 

"Boy, you should hear the lines of bull these guys give me. Some come on like lest 
little boys — they need me to mother them — what a laugh! Then the hippies, they c me 
on cool — they will ’let me make it if I dig to!’ Hal! Then the college boys f M 
the Bronx — they want something sincere — an ’intellectual relationship.’ Some ry 
to overwhelm me — they say, ’I don’t know you, but I want your body!!' Some come on 
gay and want me to help them be men again. Brother! How corny can you get? And yet 
they keep giving me these same square stories to get me to go to bed with them. Bu II 
Pure bull! I don’t know why I always go." 


"What, baby?" 

"Why don’t you like me, Marie?" 
"Baby, I dig you the end." 

"You dig me? Does that mean you 
like me?" 

"You’re too much, baby, too much!" 
"Too much what , Marie?" 

"Tooooo much. . .you’re something 
else 1 ’’ 

"What else, Marie — I don’t 

"You are the end. Uncool, man, but 
like I groove behind you!!" 

"Marie, I..." 

"Let’s split, baby." 

"You want to split up? You want 
me to go away?" 

"No, baby, but this scene drags 
me ... I am bugged ..." 

"You me^n the mosquitoes, Marie? 

I think the light attracts " 

"Let’s cut out to your pad, baby. 

I dig to wail ..." 

"You mean, to cry, Marie? Did I 
say anything. . . ?" 

"To ball, baby. . .1 dig to ball.. . 

"Whatever I said, I’m sorry, Marie. 
Here, use my handkerchief..." 

"Man, later I " 

"Later what, Marie? Do you want 
my handkerchief later? I don’t 
under " 

"No, man, like forget it!" 

"Marie ..." 


"May I hold your hand?" 

"And every night at twelve-fifteen there she 
was at the stage door — waiting, so I 
figured, well, it won’t do any harm to say 
hello. So I did, and the next thing I knew we 
were having coffee, and then I found myself 
taking her to dinner that Saturday, and I told 
her we could only be friends, and I explained 
all about Harvey and me, but the next thing I 
knew I was seeing her every night and sending 
her flowers and writing her poems, and I can’t 
sleep and I keep thinking about her, and I think 
I'm falling in love with her!... I'm going to see 
a psychiatrist." 

"OK, baby, now let me lay the ground rules on 
you. First of all, if you hit a fair ball to a 
fielder who is stoned, it’s an automatic double. 
If you lose a sandle running to first, you’re 
out. No smoking when you're on base and no 
hiding the ball in your beard. No fooling with 
the chicks except between innings. Now their 
butch right fielder has power, so keep the ball 
low to her. Their shortstop is great, but he 
should be busted by the fuzz by the third 
inning. Now the ump is a Method actor, so..." 

Top: the less-than-silver Silverstein voice is raised in ethnic song, to 
the delight of professional folksinger Jo March. Bottom: Shel evaluates 
the work of a fair artist at an artists' fair on the Village sidewalks. 

"Ernie... seeing as how I'm new in 
the Village. . .and seeing as how this 
is our first date... a blind date... 
and since we don't really know each 
other very well yet... would it be 
all right if... would it be all right 
if we went to bed after the movie?" 

"Gosh, Louise — the last time I saw you, you were voted Miss 
Ohio State of 1956. . .now you'll have to fill me in from there. . ." 


MAY 1961 

,f GIDDYAP . . .er. . .LET'S GO. . .uh. . .what the hell is that word?! j GET ALONG, LITTLE D ;IES. 

packed in a parka and humming Midnight Sun, our be- 
bristled cartoonist Shel Silverstein recently stomped 
through the snows of Alaska and found the last frontier 
to be a magnificent land of warm-hearted Eskimos and 
hard-drinking settlers. Snowshoeing and dogsledding his 
way, Shel mushed on to Anchorage, Fairbanks, Kotzebue, 
Nome and Point Barrow on the frosty Arctic Ocean. 
There’s still gold in them thar hills, he discovered, but 
more panning is done by north country film critics than 
by adventuresome treasure seekers. Putting the lie to a 
crop of Hollywood fictions, Shel found nary an igloo, 
but did find an array of Eskimos weary of flicks about 
intrigue in the ice domes. Another myth exploded by 
Shel was the one about the accommodating Eskimo hus- 
band and the itinerant tourist. “It simply isn’t so,” 
moaned Shel. What impressed him the most? The stun- 
ning scenery and the innate good sense of the people. 
“Shooting a moose out of season,” Shel says, “is con- 
sidered a worse offense than shooting your wife.” 



our own 

abominable snowman 
sketches the 
49th state 

"You see, you pack the snow into bails f| 
ike this, then you choose up sides and..| 

"Sure, it would be fun, 
but I'd have to take off 
my outer parka, then my fur 
parka, and then I’d have to 
take off my sealskin vest, 
and then my sweaters, and 
then I'd have to take 
off my flannels, and by 
that time I'd be too tired." 

Above: shaggy Shel joins in a local bounce-the- 
Eskimo rite. Foraging hunters devised this stunt 
to sight the next meal over the next hill. Be- 
low: Shel and a crusty gold-rush vet compare pans 
in reconfirming the adage about all that glitters. 

r v 


V ’ 



"Tell me, Ara, how did that silly 
nose-rubbing story get started, anyway?" 

"Why, those are 
the Northern Lights, 
what did you think?" 

"You see, back home we always believed the stories that you guys wanted a visitor to 
sleep with your wives... that you'd be insulted if he didn’t sleep with your wives. . .that. 

Now that Alaska has become the forty-ninth 
state, do you feel that the influence 
exerted politically by the state will 
affect national and international 
policies to such an extent that our 
economic horizons will eventually..." 

"OK, OK, so the hamburger was tough. What 
do you expect for a lousy $3.75, anyway?!" 


"Let's see now — interesting characters 
that I knew during the gold rush... well, 
there was Suicide Laura, and Diamond 
Tooth Lou, and Dolly the Virgin, and 
the Never Eat Sisters ... there was the 
Gimme Kid, and the Baroness, and Black 
Jim Wilson, and the Ham and Egg Twins, 
and Fugemall Jack, and Bullcow Nelson, 
and the Scurvy Kid, and the Crooked Kid, 
and Inandout, and Queen Bess... but they 
weren't really very interesting..." 


,1 a-neh* 

■ * '** l£ 

. ' ±+ k .\ v. 

Sir*--'* ‘ { . > f 

JUNE 1961 

"Aloha, sir... and I hope you enjoy Hawaii, sir., 
and it's spelled 1-e-i, sir... 
and I've heard that joke 3,227 times, sir..." 


our bearded beachcomber says aloha to the fiftieth state 

Top to bottom: appreciative Shel eyes a 
hippy hula queen; dunks in the surf off 
Diamond Head; digs a pair of Hawaiian 
beauties; jams with islander -vocal star Tom 
Moku and pals in the Honolulu market place. 

"Listen, you tell the manager this place stinks! Every mg 
is modern ... everything is air conditioned. Where the h 1 I 
is the atmosphere? Where the hell are the grass hut; 
where are the natives? If I wanted Miami Beach, I'd h e j 
gone to Miami Beach. Where is your 'tropical paradis< ? ; 
Where is the simplicity. . .where is the serenity? And a) >, 1 
where the hell is that damn bellboy with my drink?!! 

• ^ *\ ✓ 

"And that's the story of King Kalakaua and 
how he conquered the islands. You know, 
it's really wonderful to find someone from 
the mainland who is interested in our 
history and culture. Most tourists who come 
here just seem to be looking for — excuse me, 
but would you mind taking your hand off my leg." 

"And we're going to build more hotels and bigger 
hotels and better hotels, and we're going 
to get rid of all those damned palm trees and 
build still more hotels, and get rid of that 
beach and build greater hotels... and then when 
the tourists arrive, we'll be ready for them!!" 

"No, the other one... no, a little 
to the left... now straight down... no, 
a little above that one... no, no... 

a little to your right... now just 
above. .. that 's it... no, that one just 
next... you almost had it... 
just a little to your left . . . no . . . " 


\ "Man, these rich 
American girls — they 
too bossy — they want to take me 
to nightclub. .. I say OK — I go to 
nightclub. they say let's go to bed — 
OK. I go to bed. They say they want 
to buy me present — I say OK, buy me 
present. Then they say, 'You come to 
store, pick out present' and I say, 
'Just a minute, enough is enough I’" 

. .A few carnations. . .= 
orchid. . .And then the missionaries cor 
and they take away our land and mak 
us wear muumuu...and by 1 m' bye many Haw 
die and Big Five own everything. . .bu 
Hawaiians not mad at white people.. 
Hawaiians make leis for white people tour 
A few carnations. . .some rose petals 
a little poison ivy..." 

"You see, Mr. Silverstein — 
in the hula, the story is told 
with the hands... the hands . 

Mr. Silverstein. . .you have to 
watch the hands . The 
story is...uh, Mr. Silverstein... 
Mr. Silverstein..." 

"Back on the mainland everybody 
thinks that this island is just a primitive, 
backward place with ukuleles and 
dancing girls in grass skirts and half-naked 
savages swimming in the surf. When you 
go back, please let them know we're just 
as civilized here as they are." 



"Let’s see now ... Getting 
hit in the beard by a 
pitched ball ... No . 
Getting hit by a 
pitched ball in the 
beard ... No . 

Getting hit by ... " 



our bushy bush leaguer joins the 
white sox for spring training 

"Look, if you were a 
pitcher, I'd rub down your 
arm for you. If you were 
an outfielder, I'd massage 
your legs. But all you 
do is sit on the bench, 
and I'll be damned if I'll. 

Dressed to the nines in pinstripe baseball flannels and toting a 
well-padded mitt, cartoonist Shel Silverstein recently trekked 
to Sarasota, Florida, for a five-week spring-training fling with 
the Chicago White Sox. This trial introduction to the innings 
and outs of big-league ball was for Shel a boyhood dream of 
glory come true: while still a beardless Chicago youth he earned 
his daily bread vending beer and hot dogs at Comiskey Park, 
the White Sox bailiwick. According to our hirsute hero, he 
came within a whisker of making the opening-day squad: “It 
was Luis Aparicio or me,” he admits modestly, “and I just 
didn’t want to hurt Luis’ feelings. As of now, I’m a free 
agent, available to any ball club that might be a contender.” 


"...One finger means throw 
a high inside fast ball 
. . . two fingers means 
throw an outside curve 
. . . three fingers 
means your fly is 
open . . 

fingers ..." 

n My greatest thrill since I've been 
in baseball? Well I guess that 
would have to be my first day in 
the majors. We were playing 
at Detroit and I strike 
out three times, and 
make two errors, and 
we lose the game. 

But as I’m leaving 
the ball park, 
this big blonde 
comes over and tells | 
me how much she 
enjoys watching me 
play and invites me to< 
come up to her apart - \ 
ment, which happens ( 
to be right in the 
neighborhood . 

Well sir . . . ” 

"So A1 Lopez says to me, 

’Mantle,’ he says, ’If the 
Yankees ever find out that 

you're playing for us in your 
spare time, they'll be plenty 
\ mad, so how about growing 
a beard so that nobody 
will recognize you...?'” 

"Gee, imagine — 

18 years of pitching 
in the majors!" 



Playing the Shel game, our catcher in the wry makes a flip return, poles one to the far reaches of the pitcher’s mound and flops ... . , K , ... c 

y ... attempting to swipe second from Nellie rox 

"Would you mind? 
need a sketch of a 
guy hitting a 
home run . 

"OK, Shel, so you dropped a fly 
ball — let's face it, that 
can happen to anybody. 

So you ran after it 
and fell down — 
the grass is slippery 
today. So you picked 
it up and threw it into 
the stands — that's 
happened before. 

So your pants 
did fall 
down ..." 

"So I says, 'Look, 

I'm a ball player 
who loves to play 
baseball. I eat, 
sleep and dream 
baseball. I got 
baseball in my mind, 
d baseball in my heart, 
baseball running through 
and if you think 
' re going to get a guy 
like that for a lousy 
35 thousand a year, 

' re crazy! ' " 

"Here's how it works, Shel: I endorse Wilson 
baseball shoes and they give me free shoes... 

I endorse Gillette razors and they give me 
free razors and razor blades... I endorse Wheaties and 
they give me free Wheaties... So maybe you'd like me 
to endorse those Bunnies down at that key club and ..." 


’’You see, most people think umpires 
lead unhappy, lonely lives, but 
that isn’t really true. 

Sure, the managers hate us, 

but that's easily understood 
. . . and so what if the fans 
hate us, too, that's the 
privilege they pay for... and so 
we're not allowed to fraternize 
with the players off the field — 
heck, we don’t have much in 
common with them anyway... and 
sure, sometimes my family disagrees 
with a call I've made, but all of 
these reactions are a good, 
healthy part of this great game and 
not directed at me personally... 
at least that's what my 

psychiatrist tells me...” 

’’Now, the secret of good 
conditioning is running — 

I want you to run out on that 
field ... I want you 
to do 20 laps around 
the infield, and I 
want you to keep 
running, and do 10 
laps around the 
outfield, and I want 
you to keep running 
all the way back 
to the hotel, and 
pack your bag, and 
keep running all the 
way back to Chicago, so > 
we can get some 

work done here ! " 



MARCH 1963 

"Y'know, it's a funny thing. . .y 'all look more like a 
fisherman than any man I've ever seen. When I first laid eyes on you, I 
said to myself, 'Now there's a fisherman!' I says..." 

"In March those damn college 
girls flock down here... 
in April those office girls 
come down here. . .in 
January the rich wives show 
up... in June it's the 
schoolteachers . 

A real prostitute 
doesn't stand a 
chance anymore!" 


silverstein in miami 

Feigning indifference to Miami’s natural beauties, shaggy Shel ignites a cigar in the pool area of the Fontainebleau Hotel. 

C lutching a jug of sun-tan lotion and whistling Moon Over you-know-what, 
Shcl Silverstein, playboy’s wandering minstrel of the sketch board, recently 
trekked to Miami Beach to research and relish the palm-fringed benefits of 
that land flowing with mink and honeys. Venturing forth from his Fontainebleau 
Hotel base, Shel first observed at close hand the storied playground and its sun and sand, 
bars and boites, fur-bearing females and go- for- baroque architecture. Then, having soaked 
up sufficient local color and Planter's Punch, our bushy chronicler set up his unjaded 
palette and recorded these wry impressions of Florida’s phantasmagorial gold coast. 


"Well, I can teach you to water-ski in about 
two days and I can probably teach you to ski 
with her on your shoulders in about 
a week, but to do that on water skis... 
that might take quite a while... 

"H'mm. 103 degrees. . 
almost too warm 
for my mink . " •. 


"You see, if a girl has a nice tan, that means she gets out to 
the pool early in the morning, which means she wasn't out late the 
night before, which means she hasn't met any 
boys, which means her whole vacation has 
been wasted. So if a girl's got 
a great tan, she's in big trouble!" 

"First I heard he was 
single, so I wanted to meet 
him... then someone said 
he was a Cuban, so I 
didn't want to meet him. . . 
then somebody else said 
he was Jewish, so I 
wanted to meet him... then 
somebody said he was 
a rabbi, so I really wanted 
to meet him. . .but then 
I found out he's a cartoonist, 
so to hell with him!" 


-why should we give you a complimentary 
room? You've already drawn 
our hotel into one of your 
cartoons. We've already got 
our publicity — absolutely free!" 


Striking a pose b la Hemingway, Shel occupies a sport fisherman’s fighting chair while pitting his brawn against 
a 90 -lb. sailfish, then treads the boards on a water-skiing jaunt up and down the blue waters of Biscayne Bay. 

"Well, just because a 
woman is a grandmother, 
give me one good 
reason why she has 
to dress like an old 
lady... give me one 
good reason. . . ! " 

"So we arrive at our hotel, 
but as soon as we get unpacked, 
we hear there's a newer hotel 
over on Collins Avenue. So we 
move over there, but before 
we're unpacked, we hear that there's 
a newer hotel right up the 
street. So we move over there, 
but before we even get 
our luggage up to the room..." 



AUGUST 1963 

"No... this is Sunny Hill Day Camp. 
You want the Sunny Rest Nudist Camp. 
That's about two miles up the 
road and turn right at the..." 

playboy's roving cartoonist doffs his duds and 
uncovers a new facet of his art 

in the six years that cartoonist Slid Silverstein has been 
roaming the globe for playboy, drawing funny conclusions 
from Madrid to Moscow to Miami Beach, no assignment 
has proven more challenging — or more off the beaten 
track — than his most recent: to depict the unabashed life 
of a typical U. S. nudist camp. The site selected was Sunny 
Rest Lodge of Palmerton, Pennsylvania, a well-regarded 
buffer zone which graciously allowed Shel carte blanche 
for a fortnight’s stay. When he arrived, with drawing pen 
loaded for bare, embarrassment was his first reaction — but 
inhibitions soon faded as our quick-change artist, now 
birthday-suited, relaxed in his new environs. "These were 
the most pleasant, relaxed two weeks of my life," he 
recalls. "There was a great sense of freedom, of natural- 
ness in the camp. Pretensions just vanished. Nobody, 
you might say, had anything to hide." His advice to the 
amateur nudist on getting past the first awkward confron- 
tation scene: "Look straight ahead. Don't look sideways, 
don’t look up and don't look down." Reflecting on what 
it is like to live amidst a platoon of unclad females, he 
notes, " I hey lose their sense of mystery. There’s no ques- 
tion about that. On the other hand, relationships between 
the sexes seem much more honest." Here is the epidermal 
essence of SheJ's excursion into a brave nude world. 

playboy’s uncover agent Shel Silverstein pauses expectantly at the entrance of the Sunny Rest Lodge nudist camp, then manages an uneasy 
smile as he is met on the way in by camp director Zelda Suplee, a friendly sort who arrives chicly dressed in basic suntan. 

Left: pondering the shape of things to come, Shel has some dire second thoughts about the entire project before (right) resolutely un- 
fading his loins for the trek down the open road to the Sunny Rest recreation area and a beckoning world of sunshine and health. 

"Why don’t be silly. . . 

there’s nothing to be ashamed of.. 

the human body is 
wonderful , natural , 
beautiful thing! | »» 

"You’ll love it here... 
unashamedly exposed to life... 
embracing the earth... 
luxuriating in the life- 
giving rays of the sun... 
at peace with birds and sky 
and plants and animals... 
at one with nature! 

And you also get 
to see a lot 

of naked 
girls! ! ’’ 

"Sometimes I don’t 
think this goddamn 

account is worth it!" 

Getting his barings in the unfamiliar informality of the Sunny Rest camping 
grounds, Shel chats with the directress and another companionable buff buff. 

"Why I’d love to go for a walk 
in the woods! And I have the 
loveliest blue-denim 
jumper to wear. . .with a 

red polka-dot blouse... 
and a matching 
bandanna and . . . ” 

"You see, it’s clothing that 

stimulates the imagination. 
Now if I were wearing lace panties, 

you’d probably be all excited, 
but instead you see me completely 

natural and that’s the reason 
you’re not in the 

least affected, Mr. Silverstein. 
Mr. Silverstein. . 


Caught up in the spirit of camp life, our barefoot boy 
with cheek admires the form of a fellow shuffleboarder. 

"Well the next time 

anyone calls me up to 
come out for a part 

in the filming 
of a 'Naked City’...!' 

don't know how 
to ask you this, Laura, 
but could I . . . er. . . 
would you let me . . . 
uh. . .could I take 
a peek under 
that Band-Aid?" 

"After a while you'll get the hang of it. 

You put your money inside your watch band. 

You put your cigarettes behind your ear. 

You put your driver's license 
inside your shoe. 

But that 
pen . . 

"...And I never have to 
worry about my 
shoulder straps falling down 

The apprentice au naturellst takes time out from 
an afternoon swim to chat with a comely comrade. 

Now an enthusiastic convert to the spirit of altogetherness, Shel goes skinny-dipping in the camp pool with other disciples, all 
sans suits; then happily whiles away the late afternoon by feeding a pretty pair of girl-type nudists an artful line — while admiring theirs. 




"You see, my dear, 
if any other cartoonist 
tried to draw a man 
and woman completely 
nude like this — 
front view — 
no magazine would 
print it. 

But I draw it — 
and they print it! ! " 

"I think he 
must be 
a famous movie star.. 
I'm sure I've seen 
him in films, 
but I just 
can't remember 
his name ..." 

"You know, nudism is such a 
wonderful institution, it's a 

shame that it has to be confined 

to summer camps! Now I have this 

big apartment back in the city and 

"Listen, Shel, we've been out here for two weeks now- 
when are you going to start drawing...?" 


Relaxed and really in the swim of things at last, Shel disports himself with cool aplomb, enjoying himself thoroughly as a clutch of girls 
pool their talents. “Beauty may be only skin deep,” he reports thoughtfully, “but there are times when that seems deep enough." 

"Please, Shel... 

I’ve already put on my shoes, 
and I ' ve put on my bra . . . ! 
Don’t ask me 
to put on any more...!" 

"The great thing about a nudist 
camp is that here, without 
your clothes, everyone is equal! 

For instance, you’d never know 
that I am the president of 
a large corporation! 

You'd never know that I 
am worth over $2,000,000!! 
You’d never know that I own 
a $100,000 home in Philadelphia, 
three cars, and ..." 

»»...And very few men used to ask me out, so I thought 
it was because I was flat-chested, so I began 
wearing falsies and a lot of men began asking me out, 
but I realized they just liked me for my large chest, 
so I began telling them I was wearing falsies 
and then not very many of them asked me out, so I came 
to this nudist camp and lost my self-consciousness 
about my figure, but not very many of the men 
here asked me out, so I went back to the city and told 

everyone where I’d been and a lot of men began 
asking me out, but I realized 
it was just because 
they associated nudism 
with promiscuity, 
so I began telling 
them first that 
I was definitely 
not going 
to sleep with 
them... and 
now nobody 
asks me 
out. . . !’’ 

"They ask me to take off 
my coat, so OK! Then they ask 
me to take off my shirt and 
pants, so I go along with them! 

Then they ask me to take off 
my shorts and shoes and socks, 
so all right, I cooperate! 

So then they tell me to..." 

"Now here is the way I figure it... Sally leaned against the poison ivy and 
got it on her leg... the dog brushed up against her leg and got it on 
his back... Mrs. Hansen petted the dog and got it on her 
hand... then she slapped Mr. Heinrich on the back and gave it to him... 
Mr. Heinrich scratched his back and then shook hands with Bob Coogan. . . 
who patted Jeanie on the behind... and then..." 

Left: sportsman Silverstein plays Ping-Pong, tries manfully to keep his eye on the ball. "Winning,’' he says, "never seemed less important." 
Right; at eventide, playboy's vagabond cartoonist amuses his new-found Sunny Rest friends with clad tidings from the outside world. 


MARCH 1965 

SCHICKLESS shel Silverstein, playboy’s cartoonist 
at large, recently ended a long stay Stateside by 
donning sandals and sombrero for a foray down 
Mexico way. Though sorely tempted at one 
point to spend his entire southern sojourn bask- 
ing in the congenial Acapulco sun, our whisk- 
ered wit overcame his somnolence and covered 
the country like a serape in a leisurely ramble 
from Tijuana to Yucatan. True to the Silver- 
stein tradition, Shel eagerly embraced a number 
of old Mexican customs— including cockfighting, 
tequila, la siesta and the seiioritas. Though a 
seasoned world traveler (his sketch-pad junkets 
for playboy in the last seven-plus years have 
taken him to Tokyo, Scandinavia, London, 
Paris, Italy, Switzerland, Spain, Arabia, Green- 
wich Village, Africa, Alaska, Hawaii and Mi- 
ami), Shel is anything but jaded and, as the 
accompanying cartoons show, still has no trouble 
finding suitable subjects for his inky ingenuity. 


in mexico 

playboy’s peripatetic penman ind ?es 
in a south-of-the-border shel gc e 

"I ... I really can't find the . 

words to express it. Here I am in Taxco, the most enchanting 

city in the world ... a beautiful girl at my side . . . 

an orange sun burning in the clear azure sky . . . 
the rows of picturesque adobe houses set along a lazy street ... 

a gentle breeze caressing our hot bodies. .. 
the romantic sounds of a guitar being played in the distance 
. . . and I think I'm getting diarrhea. • • 

"But, Sehor, 
if I sold you 
a bottle of 
tequila, you 

would not 
expect me to 
drink it with 
you ... if I 
sold you a 

guitar, you 
would not 
expect me to 
play it ... so 
just because 
I sold you 
a blanket . . • n 

11 OK, so you're hungry, but if I buy this for three 

pesos and it’s only worth two pesos, then you'll 
become materialistic and lose your simplicity, 
so for your own sake, with your own best 

Below left: Shel finds a spot of shade from 

which to sketch a local peon at work, later shares a smoke with a caballero. 


"You see, you Americans 
have a stereotype 
concept of Mexicans — 
you picture us as 

lazy peons, in big 
sombreros, living in 
adobe huts ! But there 
is a modern Mexican 
— an educated, urbane, 
enterprising . , • well, 
I'd explain more to 
you, but it is time for 
my siesta • • • !" 

Below left: Feathers fly and a Mephistophelean Silverstein almost jumps into the pit himself. ("Ixcapuzalco” is the name of a fighting-cock 
ranch.) Center.- Shel adorns monastery wall. Right: In Acapulco's zona roja, he discusses America's balance of payments with local economist. 


"Well, of 
course it f s two 
roosters, what 
the hell did 
you think it 
was going 
to be? ! !" 

"Well, if you've got no tele- 
vision, no radio, no night 
clubs and no movies, what in 
the world do you do for 

entertainment ?" 

n I can't 
x t • # • i t 
have been 
Maria — she ' s 
much too 
sweet • . . it 
have been 
Dolores — 
she was a 
virgin ... it 
have been 
Luisa — 

she • . . " 

"But if you just had a little 

ambition, you'd move to the city 
and get a job and work hard and, 
in time, there 'd be promotions and 
by saving and investing wisely, 
you'd be financially secure and 
then every year you could afford to 
come here on a two- or three- 
week vacation . . . ! n 

"In the old days, Senor, a matador 
had only to worry about the horns 
of the bull. Now we must concern 
ourselves with not turning our 
backs to the camera, with wearing 
the colors that will pick up well, 
with staying out of the late- 
afternoon shadows at the edge of 
the ring and — most importantly 
— remembering never to make the 
kill during the commercial!" 

"You Americans are never 

satisfied! I get us two 
good seats for the corrida 
and you complain because 
we're in the sun ... so we 
exchange them for seats in 
the shade and you complain 
that we're not close 
enough to the bulls ... so 
we get the closest seats 
possible, but now you 

still complain!!" 


"But when you went to 
Spain, you tried 
bullfighting. . . . When 
you went to 
Switzerland, you tried 
mountain climbing.... 
When you went to..." 

foot-loose shel 
visits the gay side 
of got ham's 
offshore bohemia — 
where the fruits 
are unforbidden 

"Fifty years ago it was something special to be a 
homosexual: people were prejudiced against us. ..we 
were persecuted. . .we were social outcasts. . .we 
couldn’t find work I Now we’re everywhere : in 

positions of importance in Hollywood. .. of 
prominence in New York theater.. .of prestige on 
the national literary scene. Homosexuality is 

openly discussed and defended in the mass media- 
in major magazines, on radio and television; we 

also have our own publications, and national 
organizations and societies — we even have our own 
lobby in Washington. Today we’re accepted in most 

liberal, upper-level sections of society; and in 
sophisticated circles, we’re considered chic l We’re 
not controversial any longer!... We don’t shock 

anybody anymore ! . . .And 

as a result, I’m seriously 
considering going 
straight ! !" 

•Look, fella, in the first 
place, I'm trying to draw 
that building over there,. •• 
Secondly, I don't have anything 
to do with choosing the 
Playmate of the Month..,, 
Thirdly, the Playmate is 
always a girl , , . ! Fourthly,.,* 

J n THE eicht vears he's been reporting f 0r 
playboy, roving cartoonist Shel Silverstein 
has worked his inky wit in the four corners of 
the globe. In the line-drawing of duty he has 
been gored in a Spanish bull ring, badly injured 
on safari in Uganda, knocked off the mound in 
spring training with the Chicago White So: and 
sunburned all over at a New Jersey nudist camp. 
All these high adventures pale by comp ison, 
however, with Shel's most recent (and most un- 
usual) playboy assignment: to relax, as best he 
could, for a week at a high-camp summer resort 
In the last few years homosexuality as a social 
phenomenon has emerged from the shadows, to 
the extent that today there are clearly recc lized 
gay enclaves in most big cities. Near Ne York 
City, off the south coast of Long Island ere’s 
Fire Island's incongruously yclept Cherr, ;rove 
community, a small section of the free-sv iging 
island resort tradition ally (and almost ex live- 
ly) the province of Gothamites who would ather 
switch than fight. Here, sans stares, home xuals 
of every stripe gayly enjoy the amenitk of a 
thriving vacation community. And here, tl ough 
this summer fairyland, strolled our straigh John, 
bewhiskered, bare-pated and bewildered, cord- 
ing for posterity his walk on the Wilde s e. 

"Look, Charlie, I'm no 
psychiatrist, but it seems to 
me that if you want to function as 
a man , you're going to have 
to stop wearing women's 
clothes, and walking and 

talking funny, and dating 
guys.... On the other 

"You say this guy walked up to you while 
u were sketching, started getting friendly 
told you you had beautiful eyes, and then 
tried to make a pass?! Well, that's the 
way these fagots are , buddy — and 1^ got to 
patrol this damn beach all summer, and keep 
these screaming queens in line, and watch 
them swishing, and listen to their 
screeching, and now that you mention it, 
buddy, you do have beautiful eyes... !• 


Above: A stronger in paradise, our outcast islander ponders status quo. 

lelow; Sketching Shel hears bold new solution to population explosion. 

"Don’t think I haven't made a real effort 
to change the way I am... I I’ve gone to 
straight parties. ... I 've tried dat- 
ing girls.... I've tried going to bed 
with them. I’m even seeing a psychi- 
atrist twice a week, and he says 
that while it would be a mistake to 
become overly optimistic regarding 
the eventual outcome of any such 
case, after three or four years 
of analysis, he 

believes I may be 
able to — hey — 
there he is now!" 


•Well, I suppose 

drawing cartoons for 
PLAYBOY isn’t too bad.. 

It's the fellow who 
has to photograph 
all those naked girls 
I feel sorry for!* 

"The gay boys call us 'rough trade' ! 

We're the ones they date. .. .We're the 
they buy presents for.... And we're the ° es 
ones who always give them a hard time 
who beat them up and steal their money 
So when I tell you **** 

these fags are sick , 
you can believe they're 
sick ! !* 

■I'd like to kick off 
tonight's show with a medley 
of evergreens, including 
'Mad About the Boy,' 'Just My Bill,' 
'He's Funny That Way,’ 

'My Buddy' 

'I Enjoy 

Being a Girl’... !• 

•Gosh, Sally, imagine finding a 
great-looking girl like you 
in a place like this!... 

But what do you mean, 
you're in drag ? !■ 

•Hello, Mom, this is Betty. .. .Yeah, I had a 
nice trip, Mom.... No, the motorcycle didn't 
give me any trouble. .. .Yes, Mom, I'm staying 
with a girlfriend. .. .No. .. I didn't take my 
pink chiffon gown, because I don't have any 

use for it here. .. .Well, sure. Mom... sure 
there are lots of nice Jewish boys around, but..." 

Above: Shel extols virtues of heterosexuality to skeptical couple. 

"...I'm relaxing in my cottage yesterday after- 
noon, when the doorbell rings — and me — 
thinking it's Philip, I run and put on my best 
cologne, I put on my garter belt, I put on 
my nylons and spike heels, I put on my black 
negligee, I put on my wig and make-up, and I 
run to the window and peek out — and it's my 

parents ! ! So I run back into the other room, I 
wipe off my make-up, pull off my wig, slip 
out of the negligee, kick off the heels, remove 
the nylons and take off the garter belt — 
put on a pair of blue jeans, a flannel shirt and 
a pair of loafers. 



JUNE 1967 


our switcked-on beard catches the mod 
show in a return visit to swingsville-on-thames 


ten years AGO, Shel Silverstein, our bawdy bard of the satiric sketchbook, 
portrayed for playboy a London that was venerated and venerable. Eng- 
land’s capital has since become the West’s prime example of urbane renew- 
al; today, titled nobility is bypassed in favor of a closely knit coterie of 
miniskirted mannequins, pop-music groups, fashion photographers, dress 
designers and disco-technicians. Shel’s second sortie into Londontown finds 
him caught up in the storied city’s new-found spirit. In a word: Modness. 

At the foot of the statue of Eros, land- irk 
of Piccadilly Circus, Silverstein is knee ep 
in loveniks gathered to celebrate a warm 3 y. 

Of course you can't find 'Swing- 
ing London' ! There are only a 
handful of people in London who 
have enough money to swing. The 
rest of us are busy doing articles 
and picture stories and television 
shows on 'Swinging London,' so 
that you desperate Americans will 
come swarming over here looking 
for the action, and spend enough 
money to beef up our economy so we 
can afford to swing a bit l" 

"Well, Mr. Silverstein, you passed the physical, but did poorly on the 
mental exam, only average in the personality tests, language proficiency, 
art and literature, but you'll be pleased to learn that your over-all 
grade was a passing one, so we will consider tailoring you a suit 1" 

,0 1 


"She had her hair fixed like a 15-year-old, 
just the way all the London girls have. She 
was wearing the miniskirt of a 15-year-old, 
just like they all wear. And she talked 
and acted like a 15-year-old, just like 
every woman does these days. So how the 
hell was I supposed to know she was 
actually a 15-year-old? ! I" 

In Trafalgar Square, Shel draws a 
bead on London's birds— the feathered 
variety. Afterward, in Carnaby Street 
shop, he displays wildly wide lapels as 
salesgirl surveys Silverstein a la Mod. 

"Sure, driving on the 
left side of the street 
confuses me. And driving 
on the left side, while 
looking at the girls in 
their miniskirts, is 
even more difficult. 

But driving on the left 
side, looking at the 
girls, while trying to 
figure out how much one 
of them would cost on 
the dollar-pound ex- 
change rate, is just 
too damn much ! !" 


"Actually, all this 
publicity about the 
sexual promiscuity of 
London girls is highly 
exaggerated, and 
you'll find after 
you've been here a 

while, Mr Mr. 

what did you say your 
name was again . . . 

Twiggy, London supermodel and an 
international celebrity at 17 , over- 
sees lunch date Shel sketching away 
at Alvaro's, mecca for rich young Brit- 
ons. later, he digs the threads worn 
by busbied Buckingham Palace guard. 

"No cameras or drawing pads 
allowed in the crown jewel 
chamber? Well, what the hell 
do you think I’m gonna do — steal 
'em? I happen to be a well-paid 
cartoonist — with an international 
reputation — and besides, how could 
anybody steal the crown jewels — 
from an electrified glass case, 
with three guards, in a stone 
tower with a barred window?! It's 
impossible ! Unless, of course, 
you could find a way to lower 
yourself to the window from the 
parapet above, which would require 
18 feet of rope, a grappling hook, 
and a blowtorch for the bars. But 
then you’d be faced with the prob- 
lem of the electrified case, for 
which you’d need a jumper wire and 
a pair of alligator clips — to dis- 
connect the alarm without inter- 
rupting the circuit. But even then 
you’d need somebody on the inside 
to take care of the guards, and 
how would you like to meet me at 
the pub down the street a little 
later for a friendly drink. . . ?" 

"Well, they 
don’t call 
them sentry 
boxes where I 
come from . . . ! 
But it was an 
honest mistake 
...and I said 
I was sorry... 
and I will 
clean it 

"I remembered the 
odds, I remembered the 
amounts of the natural 
bets, I remembered to 
clear the layouts and 
pay the outside bets 
first, I remembered 
the pay-offs, I re- 
membered to offer the 
bank, and I forgot to 
take my pill . . . . " 

Visiting the London Playboy Club's gaming 
rooms, Silverstein concentrates his betting on 
roulette, his attention on the Croupier Bunny. 

"It’s great to have 
another American to 
share London with ! We 
can explore Westminster 
together, we can feed 
the pigeons in Trafalgar 
Square together, you 
can introduce me to the 
Beatles, and after that 
I can manage on my 
own . . . ** 



"When you 
first arrived 
in London, you 
said my mini- 
skirts were 
and smart--now 
all you say is 
my ass is 
showing !" 

American mannequin Peggy Moffitt 
leads Shel on a shopping safari in 
Knightsbridge area. Silverstein then 
repairs to a nearby pub, where he 
downs a pint with playwright Herb 
Gardner and film maker Jerry Farrell. 

"That's old Betsy, and you've been introduced to Spot and Judy, 

so I guess you've met the entire family Oh, and, of 

course, I also have a wife and three children...." 

"Through liberal 
legislation our 
antiquated sex 
laws are being 
for example, was 
once a ma j or 
offense , then it 
became a minor 
infraction; a 
few months ago 
it was made 
legal and I, for 
one, shan't be 
satisfied until 
it becomes 
mandatory !" 

"You say I never 
take you anywhere 
but to bed. . . . OK, 
here we are — Big 
Ben — landmark of 
London, symbol of 
the city's enduring 
strength and dignity 
— for over a cen- 
tury, steadfastly 
ringing the hour, 
ticking the minutes 
— reminding us that 
time is passing, life 
is expiring, youth 
is vanishing — tick- 
tock, tick-tock — 
'live, live, ' it 
seems to say — bong- 
bong — 'live, live' ! 
Let's go home and 
go to bed!" 

Neither rain nor fog can stay the hand of playboy's penman: 
Silverstein, with brolly unfurled, camps out on Westminster 
Bridge for a moist morning of drawing historic Big Ben. 


playboy's roving cartoonist laureate sets his sights on 
the exotic fauna flourishing in and about tinseltown 

for more than a decade now, playboy’s bewhiskered 
cartoonist, Shel Silverstein, has risibiy illuminated for us 
many of the nation’s odd corners, including Fire Island 
and Greenwich Village; he has toured the Middle East, 
the Far East and Africa, gone bird watching in Lon 
don and embarked on his own mission to Moscow 
Yet his star had never led him to Hollywood — an 
omission that is rectified herewith, as Shel dispels the 
golden ha ze and peeks under assorted halos to por 
tray the producer-hunting starlets, the status-hunting 
executives, the goggle-eyed tourists, the fast-talking 
guides and the fast-moving youth of the world’s dream 
capital. Not even the secrets of such sanctified figures 
as Mickey Mouse and Goofy escape Shel’s quest for 
truth. ”It’s all true: It is a town of phonies,” says Shel. 
“lazy, shallow guys, desperate girls and smalltime 
hustlers — I feel completely happy and at home there!” 

This is it, folks, Holly- 
od and Vine, the heart of 
movieland, crossroads of the 
stars, where at any moment — 
Hi ya , Frank! That was Frank 
Sinatra who just drove by in 
that sports car, folks. Hey , 
Marlon , baby — how ' s it 
goin ' ? ! That was Marlon 
Brando who just looked out 
of that window up there. 

And, if I'm not mistaken, 
that's the Tony Curtis lim- 
ousine coming down the 
street — and who's that 
riding with Tony? Why, it's 
Natalie Wood and Rock Hudson 
and Kim Novak and Cary Grant 
— and they're heading this 
way. Oops, too bad — they 
turned off — yessir, folks, 
you're really seeing the 
great ones today . . . !" 


"Wait till you see it tonight... 
lights flashing across the sky... 
stars and starlets arriving in 
chauffeur-driven limousines. . .police 
fighting to hold back the cheering 
crowds...! I tell you, it's going to 
be the greatest SUPERMARKET OPENING 
this town has ever seen!" 

"In Hollywood, it's all a matter of 
being discovered . I was originally 
discovered parking cars at Dino's on 
the Strip — got myself a contract at 
Paramount. Then I was discovered 
sitting in the studio commissary— got 
a small part in a TV Western. Then I 
was discovered by a major producer — 
got an important role in a big-budget 
picture. And finally, I 

At Grauman's Chinese Theater, Shel plays arch- 
tourist, tries to fill Jack Oakie's footprints. 

" Of course I'm going to be a big 
star!... you noticed me on that 
crowded dance floor at P.J.'s — that 
proves I have personal magnetism propositioned me — that proves 
I have sex appeal . . . I did every- 
thing you told me to do — that proves 
I can take direction . . .and I 
convinced you that you're a great 
lover — that proves I can act!" 

Silverstein can't decide what to order at The Ball, a topless 
bistro. Shel's appraisal: "The beef StroganofF was just fair." 

"So my agent asks 
me if I want to 
make a TV pilot, 
and I say, sure,., 
and the next thing 
I know, I r m in a 
hotel room with a 
naked guy in avi- 
ator goggles. ..." 

"We tried making love on the 
board, but a lot of surfers had 
already done that. Then Barbara 
got pregnant on the board, but 
even that wasn't a first. So 
just as soon as Barbara 
starts getting her 
labor pains, we're 
going to paddle out 
and wait for a big 
wave and. . . . 

"Mine is a rather unusual story.... I really 
came to Hollywood to become a hooker.... 

But there were too many girls on the Strip with 
more experience. And then 
I met him — good- 
looking, a smooth 
talker — told me 
he was a pimp 
promised to 
get me into 

Like a fool, 

I believed him. 

By the time I 
found out he 
was really a 
talent scout , 
was too late, 
my dream was 
gone. ..I'd 
become a 
movie star!" 


"Oh, sure, I can tell you about the 
sex clubs and the pot smoking and 
the LSD trips, but if you want to 
know about the free-speech movement 

and the 

|_ | I you'll have 
to ask one 
of the 

older kids " 

At Muscle Beach, Shel draws the la- 
tissimus dorsi but eyes the pectorals. 

"Out here, we learn to 
swim when we're three 
'\ years old, water-ski at 

six and surf at nine. ...We learn to drive a 
car when we’re 13, motorcycle at 15 and fly 
a plane by the time we’re 21. One of these 
days, I’ve simply got to learn how to walk!" 

"Sure, you hear rumors 
about all the homosex- 
uals in Hollywood, but 
you don’t see any 
evidence to substantiate 
the rumors!" 

"Of course, the 
size of the pool 
the impor- 
tant thing — the 
important thing is 
having a pool !" 

"In the old days, it was simple — you 
balled the producer and you got the 
part. Now they have a producer, and 
a coproducer, and an executive 
producer and an associate producer. 

A girl doesn’t know who to ball 
anymore !" 

Faced with a glossy pate, Jay Sebring, tonsorial 
artist to the stars, settles for trimming Shel's beard. 

Shel sizes up the pleasure-domed gold mine built by o 
noted fellow cartoonist, dreams of his own Silversteinland. 

"Sure, it 1 s hot wearing these costumes, but the gig 
is really sort of groovy; I mean, like last week 
these two crazy-looking chicks start following me 
around the park and, when it gets close to closing 
time, one of them says, ’Mickey, baby, 
how would you like to take a real trip 
to Fantasyland? f Well, I can see they 
have eyes to make a scene, so we pick 
up Bob, here — I mean 
Goofy — who also 
grooves with the 
idea, and the 
four of us split 
for the chicks’ 
pad, where we 
settle back and 
smoke some 
Acapulco gold 


JULY 1968 | AUGUST 1968 


playboy’s grand guru roams the hashbury with pen and flower in hand 

"i tell myself I’ll start drawing today and head down Haight Street 
toward Hippie Hill,” says our bearded Shel Silverstein. "Three people 
sit in a doorway smoking grass, A guy in a monk’s robe asks me for some 
spare change. Electric rock comes from a basement window. The girls 
line up at the free clinic to get their birth-control pills — a sign says, 
don’t give the clap to someone you love. The tourists drive by with 
their windows rolled up. ‘Wanna buy a lid?’ The Diggers ladle out free 
beef stew and apples. Beads, pot pipes, posters, underground newspap rs 
for sale. Written on a psychedelic-painted truck, don’t lauch, your 
daughter may be in here! A hand reaches out of some bushes and gives 
me a roach. A long-haired girl takes my hand and leads me up a path 
through some trees, where we lie down. Afterward, she smiles and says, 
‘Welcome to Haight-Ashbury.’ I think I’ll wait and draw tomonov 

•First, let me welcome you to 
Hashbury. . . . Secondly, let me 
warn you about narcotics 
agent s — they * re everywhere . 
. . . Thirdly, let me lay 
this lid of grass on you 
as a gift of love. . . . And, 
fourthly, let me inform 
you that you are under 
arrest !• 

•Of course, there's a lot more 
to see in San Francisco 
than Just Haight-Ashbury. 

There are the opium dens 
of Chinatown . . . the pot 
parties on Telegraph 
Hill . . . and there's 
Fisherman's Wharf, 
which is a gas 
when you're 
tripping on 


•Gee, Shel, I'd invite you to 
stay in our commune, but I'm al- 
ready sharing my bedroom with 
four pot smokers. ... We keep away 
from the living room, because 
it's full of speed freaks who 
are very paranoid about the two 
smack junkies living in the 
closet. ... And the acid heads 
never come out of the kitchen, 
because the opium eater in the 
bathroom brings them down. ... So 
I wouldn't know where to put a 
guy who doesn't use anything 8 !• 

•There's no such 
thing as prosti- 
tution here. . . . 
This is a land of 
love ! I give you 
my body because I 
love you . ..." 
And then you give 
me some money 
because you love 

•Well, I guess this destroys the myth about hippies never bathing!!!" 

■It's almost a perfect 
psychedelic poster . . . 
except I can still read 
three of the words!* 

Silverstein sizes up the panhandlers in front of the Drog Store ° n 
the Boulevard of Brotherly Love (Haight Street to nongrt overs)- 


■Well, first we pass 
around a what chamacal lit 
. . . and get everybody to 
sign it . . . and then we 
take it to the . . . uh . . 
the House of Whoeverthey- 
are . . . and get them to 
pass a . . . y' know . . . 
we show that to 
the • • • uh • • • the • • 

and then 
• uh, • « 

"You see, our world is linked 
to music. This sitar is over 
one hundred years old. It's made 
of Indian cedar, and the neck is 
inlaid with black pearl, and trimmed 
in hammered silver. ... The pegs are 
hand-carved ivory, and the strings have 
a history of. . . .• 

■But you can’t play it!" 

■Man, you don’t understand. This sitar 
is over one hundred years old. It's 
made of Indian cedar, and. ...” 

* - . 




Shel, blowing recorder, joins friend Tony Price, on flute, and 
saw-playing Golden Gate Park regular for a musical session. 

•I mean, why do these p, jr„ 

hflVfi tn roKol am) a 

«xi« uxy CO cnange the 
whole damn worl 

■Isn't it groovy living together like this 
— free from the middle-class conventions 
and obligations of marriage ! Listen, 
supper won’t be ready for another twenty 
minutes, so why don't you take out the 
garbage and go pick up the laundry and, 
oh, yes, stop by the grocer's and get 
some coffeecake — I've invited Francine 
and Bill to come over later and watch 
television. ■ 

•Well, sure . . . lots of hippies have 
lars. I need a car. I mean, how else would 
I be able to get home weekends . ... 
Not that I want to go home, but that's 
the only way I can get my allowance , 
man. ... I mean, not that I want an 
allowance, but how else could I 
pay the rent on a seven-room 
apartment . ... Not that I. . ■ ." 

what did the 
doctor say — ?" 

"He says I got it — I" 

•Gee, that's too bad." 

"Yeah, and if I got it, that 
means Betty's got it — !" 

•Hey, if Betty's got it, then 
Claude probably has it — !" 

. Well, if he's got it, then 
Diane undoubtedly has it — !" 

"Jesus Christ! Diane?!" 

"What's the matter?" 

"I got it. " 






the further adventures of truth seeker shel in darkest ha bt 

a GUY IN a BLANKET panhandles on the corner with a sign, it's debbik IK . in 

^- ,,F ; LP M f ® CT HER H,CH '" Shel reports, recalling his Hashbury hit i R i lU , 

The other night, some guys sneak into the zoo, shoot a buffalo, dnu out 

ant the Diggers have meat for their free food line. A beaded girl takes n „„„ 

makes like’ to ine and never speaks a word. An old man on a soapbox „ u v « 

tried pot, you've tried LSD— now how about giving Jesus Christ a , nte y 

And everyone talks about the 'death of the hippies' and they stage a i DD J 

funeral and some people who were just sitting in doorways getiim ,d„ Pf , 

march to the park carrying a giant coffin, and they set it on fire a, do a 
dance around it and everybody says. Well, the hippie thing is dea. And 

t en they all go back to Haight Street and sit back in the doorways a start 

getting stoned again. And the funeral is over, but the corpse is still gr> ing." 


•Well, if you just want to take our 
picture , it will cost you a quarter, 
••• It you want a picture of us rolling a 
Joint and getting high, that will cost you 
a dollar. . . . And for five dollars, we’ll 
call a cop over while we're smoking and you 
can get a great shot of us being busted!!* 

•Every night it's the 
same damn thing — I walk 
down the hill to Haight 
Street and I pick up a chick, 
but when I tell her where I live, 
she refuses to climb up the hill. 

... So I get her high, and now 
she's ready to climb up the hill, but 
she's too stoned . ... So I walk her 
around the block until she comes down a 
little, and now she's straight enough to 
climb up the hill, but she's too tired . 
... So I climb back up the goddamn hill 
and go to bed alone!* 

" Independence — that's why 
these kids come here— to 
escape from their parents 
and establish their 
independence ! And we 
Diggers help them — we give 
them free food ! ... And the 
Free Store gives them free 
clothes ! . . . And the Free 
Clinic gives them 
free medical 

•Hey, man, didn't I meet you in Paris 
during the expatriate scene?" 

•Ho, but maybe we met in Greenwich Village 
during the beatnik scene." 

•Yeah, I was there . . • and I think I also 
used to see you in Big Sur during. . . .* 

'“-".T? MJf f *• «* to 

anal, .as simply ,f 0t buste ' J - 

’I’m doing this as a 
statement of independence, 
a rebellion against my 
parents and a protest 
against outdated 
puritanical morality. 
Why are jou doing it?" 

Silverstein looks on os Haight resident pastes the 
mind-blowing donations to be doled out to the 

•Sure, they shout about the 
freedom of going barefoot— 
but they don't shout about 
the broken glass, and the 
dog shit, and the. ..." 

"... And while you were out 
all night getting high, did 
you ever think about your 
wife and children waiting for 
you here at home . . . did you 
ever consider bringing a little 
something home with you, 
so that we could get 
high, too?! Oh, 


"Loner hair is hard to manage 
. . . earrings are expensive . . . 
shawls are uncomfortable 
. . . beads are a bother . . . ! 
Sometimes I wish I'd been 
born a girl !■ 

"Sure, I can feel it, but I 
don't think it's affecting 

my drawing style ! ! ' 




•Shel— you're wearing a blanket 1 
Now you're one of us— liberated 
from the senseless restrictions 
of clothing, no longer governed 
by the inane miles of 
fashion . . . ! Of course, it is 
a little too short ... and it's 
the wrong color . . . and. . . ." 

■Oh, Shel, what a beautiful day! 

We'll take some Dexi to get us 
going . . . smoke some pot to make 
breakfast taste better . . . then 
we'll take that acid trip I've been 
promising you . . . and tonight we'll 
sniff coke to help us make love 
. . . and take some Seconal. ..." 

•But I didn't mean to go to bed with him, 
Shel — I was standing in the psychedelic 
shop, when he walked up and showed me his 
' LSD ' button, so I showed him my ' Better 
Living Through Chemistry ' button, then he 
showed me his ' Get Out of Vietnam ' button, 
so I showed him my ' Hake Love, Not War ' 

button, and then he showed me his ' Let ' s 

Fornicate for Freedom ' button and I didn't 
have any button to reply, so I didn't know 

what else to do ... !" 

Silverstein hongs out with sun-grooving nature children 
at the Morningstar Ranch just outside of Son Francisco. 



•OK, let's check the list. 

Let's see. . . . Smoke pot— check. 

. . Take LSD trip— check. . . . Go to 
a love-in — check. . . . Panhandle in 
the street— check. . . . Join a 
protest movement— check. . . . Get 
arrested— check. All right, 

Susie, I guess we can 
go back to Milwaukee now!" 


Special thanks to Hugh M. Hefner, LeRoy Neiman, Larry Moyer, Victor Lownes and Art 
Paul for the interviews, images and insights. Gracious thanks to Hef, Leopold Froehlich, 
Tom Staebler, Mary O'Connor, Bradley Lincoln, Aaron Baker, Gene Snyder and everyone at 
Playboy for making this collection possible. Humble thanks to the Silverstein family for the 
opportunity. Big thanks to Michael Carr, Ali Benis and Ellen Philips for their professional 
assistance. Added thanks to Joy Kingsolver and Jerry Foust for their archival efforts. Finally, 
thanks to Jack Romanos, Mark Gompertz, Trish Todd and everyone at Simon & Schuster.